Father and Son
by pocketcucco
Summary: Haytham didn't know he had a son until recently - a grown one, but a son nonetheless. And he's not sure he's ready to take on the heavy responsibility that the title of "Father" carries. Modern AU, because why not.
1. A Break for Coffee

Hey all! I've been itching to write Connor and Haytham between my final exam stuff, so I started working off and on with this modern au. It'll probably be a series of oneshots and the like that I update as I'm inspired and whatnot, so I can't promise a regular update schedule but I will try my best! It also won't be restricted to just Haytham's POV; I'm going to try switching between multiple characters.

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**_A Break for Coffee_**

He requested that we meet in one of the downtown coffee shops. I found, upon entering, that it was a nondescript place - a place I would have chosen myself, if I'd even known it existed. I ordered myself a drink (coffee, of course, and black, without any of the fancy little trimmings that these places were so keen to offer nowadays) before I seated myself in one of the shop's tiny, dimly-lit corners and ran my finger around the lid of the cup.

He was more than a bit late, and that was already souring my first impression of the boy. I'd come to expect a certain amount of punctuality from those around me in the past few years. It was completely necessary in my line of work; if you were late, you were gone. Or dead. It was simple as that.

I tried not to let myself get too impatient, however. This was our first meeting, and he was bound to be just as nervous as I. Still, I stirred my coffee and kept an eye on the front doors, wishing we would hurry up so we could get this over with. I wasn't exactly bursting with excitement to meet the boy who claimed to be my long-lost son.

The door swung open just as I was thinking that, and he entered with a frigid burst of air and snow. I knew it was him with one glance: he had his mother's hard set eyes, a messy-looking mop of her same hair, and - if I dared to think it - my own expression, though a far more sullen version of it. He caught me looking in his direction, raised an eyebrow, and turned to the counter to order himself a drink. Something about him was panicked, almost. How interesting.

I waited impatiently at my corner, still stirring my untouched coffee, which had surely grown cold since I arrived. The boy - a man, really, if I thought about it; he should have been about between eighteen and twenty by then - was fidgeting, waiting for his drink, hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. Hardly a posture I would condone. I straightened my own back, ran a hand over my hair as he finally took his drink and approached my table.

He paused a few feet away and motioned to me. "Haytham Kenway?"

I stood and offered him a hand. "The same."

He stared at the hand for a moment, then set his coffee on the table and reluctantly took it. His grip was firm, but unsure. I let him take his seat before I questioned him.

"Connor, correct?" I asked with a curious tilt of my head. He took a long sip of his drink and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, eyes lowered to the design on our table. "I'm sorry for just...contacting you out of nowhere-"

But I interrupted him before he could finish. "I'd like to know if you have proof that I am indeed your father."

Connor's gaze snapped up to meet mine, one part taken aback and one part angry. "Proof?"

"Yes."

The corner of his lip quirked. He reached up to touch something at his chest, and before I knew it, he was pulling a pendant from around his neck. He set it on the table, and my breath caught in the back of my throat.

"My mother gave this to me when I was young. She said it belonged to my father," he said, pushing it across the table. "Do you recognize it?"

I did. I touched the smooth metal of the amulet with the tips of my fingers. It had been so long ago, so very long...

"What was your mother's name?" I asked, my mouth dry, though I already knew the answer.

"Kaniehtí:io."

"Ziio."

He nodded again, more enthusiastically than before. "That's right. That was her nickname for- for people who couldn't pronounce her full name."

"I was one of them," I said with a chuckle, thinking back to that frozen afternoon. What had I called her by accident? Gods-diio, or something of the like. She'd laughed lightly - mockingly - at the time before she corrected me.

"I take it you remember?" Connor asked, motioning to the amulet in my hand.

"I...do, yes," I said, holding it up to the light. It was still just as untarnished as it had been the day I gave it to her. Connor and Ziio had obviously taken very good care of it in my absence.

"And do you believe me?"

"Somewhat, I suppose," I said, setting it back between us. It was my last memento of Ziio, and although part of me wanted to take it back for myself, I had to admit - reluctantly, of course - that it was rightfully his.

Connor gave me a look and opened his mouth to protest, but I stopped him with a quick wave of my hand. "I apologize. This is just very...sudden."

"I understand." His eyes dropped back to his drink. He hadn't touched his either. "I would have tried to contact you earlier, but... Ista- I mean, my mom wouldn't have liked that."

"I understand. We didn't separate on very good terms."

He gave me a brief look, one that I had difficulty identifying, before he looked away again, this time to the window, to the falling snow beyond.

"I've heard so much about you that I thought it was finally time to find out who you were," he said, so quietly that I almost didn't hear.

"Well, you've found me," I said. "Is that all you set out to do?"

"No, of course not, I..." But he hesitated, chewing the corner of his lip.

"Failed to think this far ahead?" I finished with something of a grin.

"I didn't think you'd actually agree to a meeting, to be honest."

"I am a man of many surprises."


	2. Missed Calls

Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows so far! I've been getting tons of ideas for these oneshots so far, so here's another much earlier than I expected.

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_**Missed Calls**_

A week passed before I heard from Haytham again, and all he sent me was an email with his address (well, I assumed it was his) and a single line: "Sunday at 11:00AM, sharp." I assumed he wanted to meet again, and I wasn't sure if I was happy about that or not.

It wasn't that our first meeting was bad. We talked for a bit after I showed him Ista's (or was it actually his?) amulet, and then I left with the excuse of homework when things got too awkward and quiet.

Haytham Kenway didn't seem that bad. Not as bad as Ista sometimes made him out to be when she was in one of her moods. He was sort of stiff, sure, but I think that comes from his line of work.

I didn't know if I liked him just yet, but I _did_ want to see him again. I wanted to ask him more about Ista, about their lives before they were separated and I was born. And I wanted to know more about...well, _him_, I guess. Everything I'd heard had come from either Ista or Achilles, and neither of them were overly fond of him.

Friday afternoon came in a blur. I got out of my last lecture of the day only to find that, speak of the devil, Achilles me left a voice message. I called him back without bothering to listen to it.

"I was in the middle of a class," I said before he could ask why I hadn't called him back right away.

"I had a feeling," he admitted with a bit of a chuckle. "You didn't listen to my message, did you?"

"No."

"Thought so. I need to know if you can come down on Sunday. I've got something to show you."

My heart thudded in my chest. "Is this about the-"

"Yes, it is. I can pick you up in the morning, if you'd like."

"Of course, I'd-" And then I stopped when Haytham's email jumped to mind. My spirits sank. I could email Haytham back and put off the meeting, I supposed... But I had a feeling that he was testing me. He seemed like that sort of person. If I missed this, then I might not get another chance to see him again.

"I'm...actually busy on Sunday," I said, sullen.

"Busy?" Achilles sounded surprised. "Did you finally make friends or something? Who are they?"

"What do you mean, '_finally_'?"

"I'm just saying, boy, you've never been too busy for me before," he said with a good natured huff.

I decided to ignore that. "Sunday isn't good. What about Saturday? Or today?"

"It would take me too long to drive there today. I don't like being out on the roads when it's late," he said. "And Saturday isn't good for me either."

"Maybe next weekend. I could come home for a few days."

"Now there's a fine idea. But you never answered my question."

"What question?"

"Don't play dumb with me, boy. Who's keeping you busy this weekend?"

Damn. I was hoping he'd forget. I fiddled with the phone in my hand for a second, trying and failing to come up with a decent answer.

"It's my business," I decided.

But Achilles was better than that. He huffed again, more frustrated than angry.

"All right, then. I'm not trying to be nosey - I'm just looking out for you. And I'm genuinely curious."

"It's just a meeting with someone."

"On a Sunday? I'm guessing it's not a professor."

"How did you-"

"You sound very wound up."

I fell silent. He didn't have to see me face-to-face to read me like an open book. I shifted my phone to my other ear while he continued.

"...It's not your father, is it?"

Again, I said nothing. But my silence told him everything he needed to know.

"I thought I told you to give up on him! Let sleeping dogs lie, didn't I say that?"

"I just wanted to see who he was for myself. Make my own judgments."

"He is not someone you want to get to know, Connor."

"Maybe I do."

"Stubborn boy," he muttered angrily. "Fine, then. Go meet your father. Bond with him. Make a mess of all our plans."

"I'm not making a mess of anything," I argued. "Are you jealous?"

"_Jealous_?" he spat. "Why would I be jealous of Haytham Kenway?"

"Because he's my father, and-"

"We're not having this discussion over the phone," he interrupted. "Have _fun _with your father this weekend. I'll pick you up next Friday and we'll have our talk then."

"Fine," I said, and shut the phone off before he could get the last word in.

Let sleeping dogs lie. I snorted. Was that really his only argument against my meeting with my father? I adjusted the straps of my backpack and stomped back to the dorm building. I shouldn't have told him about Haytham. Should have made up some excuse. Should have hung up before he could ask.

Achilles and I got in our arguments from time to time. This certainly wasn't the worst, but they always left a bad taste in my mouth. He'd taken me in after Ista passed away, when I was still an angry teenager with no direction or motivation. He'd helped me out when no one else would. And even though we clashed from time to time, we always bounced back. Always forgave each other.

I didn't think he'd forgive me for this, though.

He wasn't jealous of Haytham. Not in the slightest.

He was upset - actually, a better word would probably be furious - that I was willingly meeting with one of the Templars he was supposed to be tracking.


	3. Mine and Yours

Thank you again for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far. :) Some more Haytham and Connor this time, but things will be getting a bit more action-y in the next installment.

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**_Mine and Yours_**

He was late again. I found myself pacing about the house, pausing every so often to check the clock over the mantle. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, a full half hour. Was he even planning on coming? He'd sent a hasty reply to my message (all it said was "OK", and I'd had half a mind to respond to him with something just as snarky). Come to think of it, his email address was my only connection to the boy; no cell number, no physical address. I had no other way to contact him.

I was about to give up on him completely when I heard a harried knock at the door. I sighed, but opened it with a flourish - only to find a sodden, bedraggled Connor standing in the rain on the other side. His hair was messily tied up, hanging about his face in wet clumps, and the toes of his shoes were coated in mud. I tried not to wrinkle my nose.

"Did you walk all the way here?" I asked as I stood aside to let him in.

"From the bus stop. They were late this morning, sorry."

"...You rode the bus?"

The boy gave me a look as he shrugged out of his heavy, water-laden jacket. "I don't have a car."

"Oh." I hadn't even considered that.

Connor held the jacket awkwardly in his arms for a moment before he set it aside by the door. "Thanks for, uh, inviting me over," he said.

"Of course. I've been curious." I beckoned him to follow with a short wave of my hand. "I'd like to hear more about what you've been up to. And perhaps about your mother, if you don't mind discussing her."

Connor trailed behind me, hands shoved in the pockets of his pants. He couldn't seem to stop himself from staring at my entry hall, the front room adjacent to it, the corridor that led to the kitchen: all tastefully decorated, if I do say so myself, with various pieces of art (mostly reproductions, unfortunately), a few mementos from the family home back in London... No photographs, though. He caught onto this right away.

"You have no pictures of her," he said, his voice strangely flat. Suppressed, almost.

"I do."

"Where are they?"

"I keep them to myself."

He opened his mouth to question me further, but we'd already entered the kitchen and I motioned for him to take a seat at the table in the nook. He lingered there for a moment, watching as I removed two mugs from a cupboard.

"What would you like? Something hot should suffice on a rainy afternoon like this. I have coffee, tea..."

"Water is fine."

Interesting. I poured him a glass and helped myself to the coffee I'd had brewing in the pot. Something told me I was going to need the extra boost.

"So," I began as I set the mugs on the table and took my seat across from him. "I noticed your email had the university name attached to it. You go there?"

"Yes. I'm a sophomore."

"What are you studying?"

"A little bit of everything right now. My core classes mostly." He shrugged lightly, staring into his mug. "I'm not sure what I'm going to major in yet."

I took a short sip of the coffee. "You haven't? I thought you were supposed to by now."

"No."

"Ah."

And then we fell silent, staring at each other, staring into our drinks. It was just like the coffee shop again, but without the busy atmosphere to alleviate some of the pressure. Connor seemed especially miffed; the boy's eyes were roaming, looking everywhere but me.

"Connor," I said, and he looked up. "That wasn't the name she gave you, was it?"

"I was born Ratonhnhaké:ton."

The name escaped me just as Ziio's had. Connor smiled, clearly very amused by my expression.

"Rah. Doon. Ha. Gay. Doon," he said, pronouncing it slower than he had before. I repeated it back to him, and he nodded approvingly.

"My mother said it means 'life that is scratched'."

"Still, perhaps I should just stick to Connor," I said.

"Perhaps that would be best."

The conversation fell into another lull, so I leaned forward on the table. "What made you decide to find me? After all these years?"

He met my eyes then. "It's like I said before. I wanted to know you for myself."

"That can't be all."

"Can't it?"

I hid a grin. The life - hard, determined, bright - in his eyes reminded me so much of Ziio.

"What _did _Ziio say about me that made you want to come find me?"

"She said that you were..._are..._very calculating, sometimes to the point of being cold. That you would help people, but only if you were benefited in the end. And that you hid a lot about yourself from her, and from others, and that was one of the reasons why she left you."

Ouch. She had told me most of this, of course, and hearing it again from her son - from _our_ son - brought back the memories afresh. I took another drink of my coffee to save myself from having to respond.

But Connor wasn't finished. His gaze dropped again, and he said, "She also mentioned that you could be very gentle. She felt safe in your presence."

I couldn't hide my grin behind my mug that time. "Did she, now?"

Connor nodded. "I always trusted her opinion, but I've been...curious. Especially since she died."

I almost choked on my coffee. "She what?"

"You didn't know? She died several years ago. When I was a teenager."

The mug in my hands suddenly felt heavy, impossibly so. I set it down before it could slip from my hands.

"No one told me," I said, frowning deeply. "All these years, and I thought..."

"Oh," Connor murmured, and I couldn't tell if he was upset or frustrated or a mixture of both. For the moment, all I could hear was the thud in my chest, and all I could feel was the sudden ache in my gut. The kitchen was too hot and too cold all at once. I pushed myself away from the table and began to pace.

"How long ago was this? What happened?"

"I was still a teenager. There was a fire."

A fire? I made my way back to the coffee pot and tried to refill my mug without spilling.

"Why didn't you come to me?" I asked as I made my way back to the table. "Why wasn't I contacted?"

Connor bristled, much to my surprise. "I didn't know you! All I had was a name and a face. You were a complete stranger to me - and you still are, in fact."

Not it was my turn to be angry. "That doesn't change the fact that I am still your father!"

"Would you have taken care of me if I showed up at your door? An angry teenager - a child you never knew you had - who just lost his mother and didn't want to have anything to do with anyone?"

That gave me pause. I bit at my lip.

Connor leaned back in his chair, clenching and unclenching his fists. "I had someone to take care of me anyway."

And that piqued my curiosity. "Who was that, if I might ask?"

"A family friend. My mother knew him, and so did the tribe's elder."

"Who was-"

"It doesn't matter," Connor said, waving my question aside before I could voice it. He was still irritated, upset by the turn the conversation had taken. "What exactly were you up to after my mother left you?"

"Work, mostly."

"She said you were consumed by it. Whatever it was."

"I suppose I was, in those early days. It was the reason why I came here. To the States, I mean."

"What do you do?"

Ah, there it was. The one question I'd been hoping to avoid the entire afternoon. I took another drink from my coffee, though it had long lost its taste.

"You have your secrets, and I shall keep mine," I said with what I hoped was a wistful smile. "Let's just say that it's a sort of...Order, if you will."

"An Order," he repeated, suddenly thoughtful. "And what exactly does it do?"

"We're a group of like-minded gentlemen. And that, Connor, is all you need to know."

"Sounds secretive."

"It isn't exactly, but I don't like to go around talking about it."

"Not even to your own _son_?"

He was being sarcastic then, but all the same, I couldn't help but chuckle. He seemed surprised by this.

"Not while we're still strangers, as you so aptly pointed out. After a bit more time...well, I suppose I don't see the harm in telling you more about it."

"That would be interesting."

"Indeed." I set my mug aside. The atmosphere of the room wasn't so strong then; it wasn't as pleasant as I'd hoped, but it was much better than before, when the topic of Ziio came up. I made a mental note to myself to avoid her until later. Much later.

Though her death was something I was going to mull over for a very long time. Already I could feel it weighing on my mind, festering like a wound. One that probably would never quite heal.

But I was getting ahead of myself. Connor was looking antsy, and I had a feeling that our conversation had come to an end. I glanced at the digital clock on the stove and found that we'd managed to talk for over half an hour already.

"I should get going," Connor said, right on cue. "I have homework I need to finish before my lectures tomorrow."

"Are you taking the bus back?"

He gave me another one of those looks. "Yeah. I can't exactly walk back."

"It's still raining," I said, glancing out the nearby window and into my backyard. The freshly trimmed grass was slowly being consumed by mud. "I can drive you back to the campus."

"You don't have to do that."

"Perhaps not, but I wouldn't mind."

Connor stared after me for a moment, and I was afraid he'd refuse. But, after some thought, he finally shrugged and said, "All right. Um, thanks. Again."

"It's not a problem."


	4. Welcome to the Brotherhood

And here I thought I'd be updating so much more while I was on winter break... Ah well, haha. Thanks so much for all the reviews, favorites, and follows, everyone!

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_**Welcome to the Brotherhood**_

Achilles came for me the Friday after my meeting with Haytham. We hadn't spoken since our last angry phone conversation and I could see that he was still a bit miffed.

I waited patiently for him to bring it up. But Achilles simply drove, keeping his thoughts to himself and his eyes on the road ahead. Still, the drive to his estate would take over two hours, and I knew he couldn't stay silent for that long.

My patience was rewarded less than forty-five minutes later.

"How was your visit last weekend?" he asked. There was no anger in his tone; only a genuine curiosity, which caught me completely off guard.

"Okay," I said after a moment's hesitation. Achilles glanced at me from the corner of his eye before he returned his attention to the highway.

"Was it worth putting this meeting off?"

I scowled at him. "You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"You've been looking forward to this since you were a boy. I'm just surprised you'd put it off for the _Grand Master_ of the Order we're supposed to be fighting."

"I wasn't visiting him as an Assassin. I was visiting him as his son."

Achilles made a tsking noise. "Sometimes I have a hard time understanding you, boy."

"And _I_ have a hard time understanding _you_. Wouldn't you want me to get close to him? He doesn't know what I am."

"Yet."

"He won't know."

"And if he tries to sway you into the Order?"

"He won't. He didn't bring it up _once_ when I met him."

"He will sooner or later. I can promise you that."

"And if he doesn't? What if he just wants to get to know me?"

Achilles gave a dry laugh. "This is Haytham Kenway we're talking about. He'll bring it up in due time. Just you wait."

I fell silent then, my hands clenching into fists on my lap. It probably wasn't a good idea to mention that I'd been emailing Haytham back and forth for the last week; just short messages about classes and the like, maybe four or five in all over the past few days. I still felt strange around him - that familial bond I had expected hadn't quite formed just yet - but he was...interesting. Almost nothing I'd been told.

Achilles said nothing more on the subject as he drove. He asked the usual questions about my classes and what I'd been up to, which I answered. He didn't bring up Haytham again until we'd reached his estate and I was helping him out of the car.

"Today, your father will officially and completely become your enemy," he said. His voice was brimming with an excitement I hadn't heard from him in a long time. "Today is the day we've both been training for."

I couldn't help but share his excitement as I followed him into the house. The building was silent - as usual, unfortunately - but otherwise, it hadn't changed a bit since I left for the university. The Davenport Estate (that's what Achilles liked to call it) was warm and grand, despite the fact that only Achilles and me lived there. Despite that, it was more of a home to me than the reservation had been after my mother passed away.

Achilles led the way to his hidden basement door beneath the staircase. It was cooler down there, and the air smelled of earth and damp. There was a tinge of sweat there, too; remnants from our training sessions so many months ago. I felt a familiar thrill run up and down my spine as I trailed behind him into the room where he kept the majority of his Assassin life's work: weapons, clothing, even printouts of a few of the current Templar leaders in the Americas.

My attention was drawn to the middle of the room, though. Where he kept the white hooded jacket I'd had my eyes on since day I arrived.

Achilles made his way to the wall of Templars first though, and tapped a few of the images with the tip of his cane.

"We're going to start planning our assaults very soon," he said. "We'll start small, so you don't attract too much attention. The Templars have spent years and years thinking that our faction of the Assassins has gone quiet."

"You want me to start right away?" I asked. I was nervous, of course, but excited too. And Achilles caught on right away, because he gave an amused chuckle and shook his head.

"No, no. Not just yet. You're more than ready though. I trust you to do an excellent job."

My heart soared at his words, and I fought to keep my expression neutral. Praise from Achilles was hard to come by, even when I'd lived alongside him for so many years.

"We'll continue as normal for a bit longer. The man I want you to pursue is out on the west coast, so you'll have to wait anyway."

"What about Charles Lee?"

Achilles glanced up at the printouts, at the one of a moustached man with brown, gently tousled hair. His picture was near the top, close to my father's. His second-in-command, and the man who'd-

"Not yet, Connor. He's too powerful."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Achilles shook his head.

"You'll have your chance. I promise," he said. "But for now..."

First he reached for a wooden box that he'd placed atop one of the many shelves lining the walls. He held it in both hands and slowly opened the top.

"These used to be mine, back when I was young and spry enough to use them properly. But now they're yours, boy, and I know you'll make excellent use of them."

He lifted the lid with a sort of dramatic slowness, and my breath caught in the back of my throat when I looked inside.

"Hidden blades," I murmured. They were antique too, not like the makeshift ones I'd used in training. Achilles nodded to me with a half smile, and I reached forward to run my hands across the metal and leather of the gauntlets that covered the blades.

"I'd tell you to be careful, but that would defeat the purpose," he said as I took them from the box.

"Thank you," I said, weighing them in my hands.

"Don't you want to try them out? Go on."

I did as he urged and carefully slipped them over my wrists. They were surprisingly light, even lighter than I'd been expecting. It was strange, but they felt like they...belonged. I flexed my right wrist and the shining blade shot out of its hiding place with a muted _shick_.

"They suit you," Achilles said. There was a gentle note of something in his voice...pride? He gave me another rare grin and set the box aside.

"You can bring this with you. I have a feeling your RA wouldn't take too kindly to seeing you carry those things around the dorm," he said with another chuckle. He hobbled carefully to the jacket in the middle of the room and stood beside it. I followed him, still finding it somewhat difficult to catch my breath.

"You've earned the right to touch it now," he said.

And I did. I put my hand to the shoulder of the jacket, to the rough fabric of the hood. I thought back again to my first evening in the estate, when I'd tried to approach it and received a strict reprimand from Achilles.

"Don't think you can just come in here, throw those on and call yourself an Assassin," he'd said, and I'd stepped away so fast that I almost tripped over my own feet. Some first impression.

"It's been a long time since then, hasn't it?" he said, echoing my thoughts.

"It has," I agreed.

"You've come a very long way. We both have," he continued. "And now it's time for you to become one of us, fully and totally. Go on. Take the robes. You deserve this moment."

"What, no ceremony?" I asked somewhat jokingly as I took the jacket from its place in the middle of the room. Unlike the hidden blades, it felt heavier in my hands than I'd expected.

"You don't seem the type for all of that. But that changes nothing. You're one of us now - an Assassin."

I gently slipped the jacket on which, to my surprise, fit almost perfectly. It was a bit big, sure, but I'd fill it out in time.

"Welcome to the brotherhood, Connor," Achilles said. How long I'd waited to hear him say those words.

"What do we do next?" I asked, eager to begin my work now that the training phase was over and I was finally a full fledged Assassin. I kept repeating that over in my head: I'm an Assassin. I'm an Assassin. Soon I'd be pushing my way through the Templars, and - at long last - I'd get a chance to meet Charles Lee again, for the first time since I was a child. I eyed his picture on the wall.

"Tonight I'll take you out for dinner to celebrate," Achilles said as he made his way back to the stairs. "And tomorrow you're going to help me around the estate. There are quite a few chores that need doing while you're here."

My stomach dropped. "What about my new duties? What about-"

"Remember what I told you, boy. Those will start in due time. We can't go jumping headfirst into something this big."

"But-"

He held up a hand, and I fell silent once more. "In due time," he repeated, and began to climb the staircase back up to the first floor. "If you want an Assassin job to do, then keep in contact with your father. It wouldn't hurt to know what he's up to and what he plans."

"He's not going to go telling me Templar plans. We barely know each other."

"But you'll know each other just fine soon. I take back what I said about avoiding him. Keep in contact. The connection may prove useful to you in the future."

I nodded, but I wasn't sure I agreed. Not yet. Haytham didn't seem at all threatening to me.

But still. Achilles was rarely wrong. I'd learned that much in my time with him.


	5. Rumors

Another Haytham piece before we jump back into Assassin stuff. I remember when this was just going to be a short series of oneshots, but now the plot is sort of growing against my will... Oh well. :')

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**_Rumors_**

"Sir?"

Charles' voice shook me from the trance I'd entered when I started replying to one of Connor's messages. I quickly minimized my personal email tab and rose to greet my old friend.

"Charles," I said warmly, clapping him on the back. "I didn't hear you come in."

"You seemed absorbed in your work. I was almost afraid to disturb you."

I almost snorted. My work, indeed. Today I'd been reading about Connor's latest exploits in his English class; they were reading a novel that he found rather boring, and he went into some detail about the flaws in its plot. I'd come to see his messages - though they were usually short, and few and far between - as a reprieve, as a breath of fresh air in the middle of my day. He still seemed awkward, and perhaps a bit put-off time to time, but that was all right. We both needed time to adjust to each other's presence.

Of course, I could tell Charles nothing of this. Not yet, at least. My newfound son had nothing to do with the Order.

"What brings you here?" I asked him instead.

I sat back in my chair while he seated himself across from me, fidgeting with the front of his coat. Something had him on edge; though, to be honest, something always seemed to have Charles on edge those days.

"I was wondering if we would finally get together this weekend. You've been preoccupied the last few."

"This wasn't something you could call or email about?"

"It concerns Church and the possible Assassin issue."

Charles hissed these last words from between his teeth. Veins bulged in his neck. Normally I would have reminded him that he needs to rein in his temper, but instead I found myself leaning back in my chair, trying to bite back an expletive of my own.

"Let's not worry about Church for now. He can be dealt with rather easily," I decided. "It's the Assassin we should be concerned about. You told me that the rumors were false, Charles."

"They _were, _but now they're cropping up again. And I think that Church should also be made a priority. Do you even know what he's up to?"

I fixed my subordinate with a stern look. "We'll deal with him _later. _No, these Assassin rumors - if they even _are _rumors anymore - must be dealt with immediately. Do you remember what happened the last time the Order did not take an Assassin-related threat seriously?"

"Unfortunately."

I tried to settle back at my desk. "What have you heard recently?" I asked him after a pause.

"That the east coast division is stirring. I had Hickey look into it, but he's only caught snippets of conversation."

"Those being?"

Charles suddenly looked unusually sheepish. "That there were survivors from the purge."

I started to slam a fist down and just barely managed to stop myself. "We're just hearing about this _now_?"

"They've kept themselves well hidden."

"Apparently."

I jumped to my feet and began to pace across the office. My mind was racing so fast that I could hardly keep still. If the Assassins rose again, if they tried to interrupt our work-

"They will be destroyed, sir. I'll make sure of it personally."

I glanced back at Charles. In his eyes I could see a fierce loyalty, a fire that roared to angry life. This was why I admired him so much, despite his temper.

"See that you report to me regularly. Remind Hickey that he should be doing the same."

"Of course," Charles said. He stood then and came to place a hand on my shoulder.

"We will not allow them to grow," he said in a vicious whisper. "If there are survivors, then surely their numbers are too small to compete with ours."

"We have to be careful regardless. They'll still have chances to recruit and swell their ranks. We've heard of this happening before in the past."

"It won't happen again."

I allowed myself a small, strained grin. "Excellent. I'll keep an eye on things as well," I told him. "Thank you for coming to speak with me today, my friend."

For a moment, I thought I saw a flash of the old Charles - the younger one, new to the Order and eager to please, flourishing under my praise and instruction.

"You have my word, sir," he said. "Oh, and by the way... Do you have anything new about the site? I know I ask all the time, but I can't help but get my hopes up. Once we're in, we won't have to worry about the Assassins ever again."

I felt myself falter. Ah, the precursor site. My first and perhaps my greatest failure - though the rest of the Order was still oblivious to this. They thought that I was still looking for a way in, thought that I was searching tirelessly at every chance I got. I still hadn't told them that I'd given up on it the day I learned that we didn't have the correct key and couldn't enter the site.

"Still working at it," I said. Charles nodded; I think he was one of the few who still believed my little white lies.

I gave him another satisfied grin and turned back to my desk. I'd expected Charles to leave then, anxious to start his latest task, but he lingered, fidgeting again.

"Spit it out," I said rather bluntly.

"I was curious, sir," he said, fumbling over his words, "because your recent preoccupation reminds me of...of a few decades back. Well, not exactly that bad, but-"

I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Had I really been that distracted? But Charles continued before I could speak.

"I was only concerned, sir, for the Order and all of these Assassin rumors. We're at a crucial turning point and we'll need your guidance now more than ever-"

"My personal business is just that, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would treat it as such," I said, perhaps a bit more sternly than necessary. Indeed, Charles took a wary step backward before he expression hardened once more.

"Very well," he said, suddenly curt. "I understand. I apologize for prying. As I said, I am only concerned for the Order-"

"There is no need. Nothing will distract me from my work."

"I see." Charles was very clearly irritated, but to his credit, he was containing himself. "I'll contact you again soon. Take care, sir."

"And you as well," I said as he left my office.

I sighed, long and low, once the door closed. Connor had not taken up _that _much of my time - certainly not as much as I had allowed his mother to. Perhaps I had been distracted - perhaps even a bit distant - but was that not understandable, given the circumstances? Given the fact that I had only just learned about the existence of my adult son?

Still, Charles and the rest of my Templar brothers didn't know any of that. All they saw was a semi-preoccupied superior, one who - like Charles pointed out, I hated to admit - they all needed at this crucial juncture in our work.

I would have to change things. Throw myself completely back into the Order. They needed me now more than Connor did. Especially if the rumors of Assassins might be true...

But there was nothing I could do about it for the moment. For now, all I could do was sit and reopen the email tab that I had nearly forgotten about.


	6. Abstergo

I thought teenage Connor (well, he's about eighteen or nineteen here) would be harder to write, but I'm actually really enjoying him. His chapters are sort of becoming my favorites to work on, haha.

Again, thank you so much for your reviews, favorites, and follows! Your support really means a lot to me and I appreciate it so much. :)

* * *

_**Abstergo**_

The manor was very easy to climb. I knew it better than the back of my hand, and in my earlier years I imagined that I could probably scale parts of it with my eyes closed.

Achilles taught me the basics of free running and climbing by having me make my way up certain parts of his home. As I grew older, I found myself climbing it simply because I could; it was an simple, almost mindless task, and the rooftop was one of the few places I could go to be alone.

Today I sat on its edge, taking in the cool sea breeze while I flipped through a few messages on my phone. Haytham hadn't sent me anything in about a week and I was starting to wonder why I even cared. For a few hours I even entertained the idea of setting up another meeting myself - and then I realized how stupid I must've sounded.

I forced myself to shut the phone off and slip it back in my pocket. From the Davenport rooftop I could see parts of the bay; apparently ships had once sailed there, but now it was empty, aside from the remains of an old ship that a neighbor once told me was called the _Aquila._ I could also see parts of the forests, of the pine trees and the old roads that wove between them. Farther out there were houses and the people I'd come to know since Achilles let me live with him.

Farther still was the reservation where I grew up. I hadn't been there in so long... Part of me wondered if anyone aside from Kanen'tó:kon and my grandmother even remembered me. Probably not.

"Hey! Connor!"

I gripped the edge of the roof a little tighter and glanced over. One of our more distant neighbors was standing below, waving up to me with her free hand - the other was carrying what appeared to be a string of rabbit carcasses.

"Hello, Myriam," I called back. "Hunting?"

She motioned to the rabbits with a proud grin. "Yep. Pretty good catch today. Are you on a break or something?"

"No. Just here for the weekend."

"Ah." She paused for a moment, then smiled. "It's always good to see you back here. I've missed our hunts, you know?"

"Maybe we can go out sometime soon," I suggested. I'd missed our outings more than I realized. "I can come up again in a few weeks."

"Careful now. You'll make Norris jealous."

I felt my face go hot. "I didn't mean it like- I meant-"

But Myriam only threw her head back and laughed. "I understand! It's too easy to fluster you sometimes."

I didn't respond, and she only laughed harder.

"Listen. It _is_ good to see you again," she said when she'd calmed down. "Achilles says you've been pretty busy lately, so come by whenever you have time. Norris and I would be more than happy to have you."

"Thank you, Myriam."

"Not a problem. Take care now - and don't go falling off the roof again."

"That was a long time ago!"

She chuckled again and gave me a quick wave before she turned away. I watched her go for while before I turned my gaze back to the bay. The sun was starting to set and Achilles would want me in soon.

"I have a job for you tonight," he'd told me earlier. "Now don't get excited - you won't be confronting anyone for a while. For now I'd just like you to go by the Abstergo building in the city."

"That's apprentice work," I'd muttered angrily, but Achilles waved me off.

"Perhaps, but it's still important. Your father won't be in today either. I've already made sure of that. We don't want to tip him off just yet."

"What do you want me to do while I'm there?"

"Just take a look around. Get a feel for the place. The information might come in handy later."

"Haven't you been there before?"

"A very long time ago," he said. His voice dropped, and after that, so did the conversation. I bit my tongue. It was absolute, unspoken taboo to bring all of that up - Achilles' past as an Assassin, especially the times he was with Abstergo - and there I went anyway, running my mouth like I had when I was younger and more naive.

A door closed below me. I looked down and saw Achilles making his way to the car.

"Are you ready?" he called.

I slipped down from the roof and began my descent.

* * *

The Abstergo building in the city is supposedly much smaller than the others around the world, but to me, it seemed impossibly tall and intimidating. I stared at it from across the street, where Achilles dropped me off almost five minutes before.

"I'll be back in a bit," he said before he left me standing there, arms hanging at my sides.

I waited another few minutes before I crossed the road and positioned myself at the bakery just a few feet away. I pretended to admire the pastries and breads while I was actually staring toward Abstergo's entrance; was Achilles absolutely sure that Haytham wouldn't be there today? Maybe I could explain my presence away as pure coincidence, but somehow I don't think he would buy it. Haytham isn't stupid.

I finally pulled myself away from the display case. A few white-suited men and women were leaving Abstergo; at this hour, it must have been near closing time. I leaned against the wall and pulled out my phone, hoping to look as casual as possible.

They passed me without a second glance. I stowed the phone when they were gone and moved even closer.

The glass doors were right there.

Did Achilles want me to go in, or...?

I stood there for a few seconds, feeling like an idiot with my hands in my pockets and my jacket hood flung over my head.

What could it hurt? He wanted information. I'd get him information.

I stepped past those gleaming doors and found myself in the middle of Abstergo's lobby.

In the middle of the Templars' den.

The entire room was a stunning white: white furniture, white walls, white tile flooring. Even the magazines - all tastefully organized across a white table - were devoid of color. The Abstergo logo engraved in one of the walls was the only break in the monotony: it was a bright, bloody shade of red.

It reminded me of the Templar cross.

"Do you need anything?"

I snapped my head around. A secretary at the front desk was watching me with curious - and somewhat irritated - eyes. She twirled a pen between her fingers and nodded in my direction.

"Do you need something?" she said again.

"No."

She looked like she was about to ask me a second question - or tell me to leave, most likely - but was promptly interrupted by the group coming from the elevator.

"-you're not going about this the right way at all.

"'n what do you know?"

Two men stepped into the lobby.

I recognized one of them.

Charles Lee.

My first instinct was to run at him, fists clenched, and punch him so hard that it caved his face in. I almost did this, too - until I remembered where I was. What I was supposed to do.

And, somehow, I reigned that torrent of anger in. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket and forced myself to breathe through my nose, just the way Achilles showed me.

Lee and his companion continued to speak, completely oblivious to me. "'Aytham wants us t' look into tha' thing with the Assas-"

"Enough," Lee hissed, grabbing the other man's shoulder. His gaze swept across the lobby - swept _right_ over me - and his jaw hardened. "We'll discuss this elsewhere."

The other man shrugged from Lee's grasp. "Fine, fine."

I was pretending to focus on the magazine spread as they passed, but I couldn't help glancing at Lee one more time. His friend was ignoring us both, but Lee - he must have sensed my staring, because he looked over his shoulder and caught my eye.

He crooked an eyebrow.

And he turned away.

He didn't remember me.

That familiar anger welled up in my chest.

My shoulders tensed. My hands came out of my pockets. I took several steps and was almost on him-

A horn honked outside. I stopped dead in my tracks and saw Achilles waiting across the street.

"Maybe it's time for you to go," the secretary said then, breaking me from my trance. It took me a moment, but I bolted back out onto the sidewalk.

Lee and his companion had already melted into the crowd by the time I stepped out into the evening cold. I scanned the walkways, the streets, the fronts of buildings-

"Connor! It's time to go!"

I hissed a curse under my breath and joined Achilles on the other side of the road. He was glaring at me when he got there.

"Look," I started before he could say a word, "I wasn't going to-"

"I saw you, boy. You nearly destroyed all of your training in about two seconds. If I hadn't been there-"

"I can handle myself!"

"Sometimes I wonder, Connor."

I seethed quietly in the passenger seat as he pulled back into traffic. He glanced at me once from the corner of his eye and shook his head.

"I heard them talking about us," I said after a moment's hesitation. "The Assassins."

"Did they?" Achilles' voice was dangerously low.

"The man with Lee-

"Thomas Hickey."

"He mentioned that Haytham wants them to look into something about the Assassins."

"I see."

It was difficult to catch Achilles' expression in the darkness of the car, but I could see the concern in the hard set of his eyes.

"It's fine. They saw me, but they didn't know who I was."

"They _saw_ you? Connor-"

"They don't know me. They won't remember me. Hickey was too busy talking and Lee was just...ignoring me."

"You walk a fine line, boy."

"At least I still got something."

"You did," he acknowledged with a nod. "Not exactly what I had planned, but I suppose this wasn't a complete waste."

I snorted. Achilles offered me a strained chuckle.

"You still have a ways to go. But you're doing well," he said quietly. "Now I know what we need to do."

"What's that?"

"Keep an eye on our own underground, sparse as it is. And you're going to need to get closer to your father."

"I don't think-"

"This is important. They wiped us out before. They won't hesitate to do it again. This time I want to be able to prevent it _before_ it happens."

"...I won't let anything happen."

Achilles met my gaze then.

"I know you'll do your best."


	7. Lessons

Aaand we're back! Thank you so much for all of the reviews, favorites, and follows again! And I apologize for taking so long with this, haha. But it's been one of my absolute favorite chapters to write so far. :)

* * *

_**Lessons**_

Connor was late again on the afternoon of our third visit, but at this point I had come to expect his tardiness and didn't bother setting things up until a few minutes before he was originally set to arrive. I'd put more thought than usual into that day's get together, and I found myself feeling strangely...anxious about it all.

Me, anxious. I couldn't help but scoff.

When my son did finally arrive, he stepped into the kitchen and grinned at the kettle, cups, and saucers that I'd set so carefully on the table.

"Tea?" he asked. "I was wondering when it would come up."

I very nearly rolled my eyes. He only seemed to speak more than a single word when there was some sass involved.

"Where you, now? How often have you had tea?"

Connor shrugged his shoulders. "Once or twice. I wasn't a big fan."

"Perhaps you didn't try the _correct_ tea. I have several varieties here-" I gestured to the packets of tea that I'd removed from the cupboard some time ago, "-so choose what you'd like."

He picked through them for a moment, reading each label with a frown.

"What's the difference?" he finally asked.

My eyebrows must have shot up to my hairline. "The _difference_? I see I have a lot to teach you, my boy."

I sat down at the table, and Connor joined me after a moment's hesitation. I swore I caught him smirking, though it was only for a fraction of a second.

"Now, pick your tea."

He stared at them again, still scowling. "Which would you recommend?"

"Me? Personally, I always enjoy a good earl grey-"

"I'll try that, then."

I handed him the appropriate packet, took one for myself, and motioned to the kettle.

"Now we pour-"

"I know how to pour water."

"Go ahead, then."

Connor took the kettle in both hands and carefully poured. I half-expected - well, I hoped, in all honesty - that he would slosh water over the rim of his cup so I could chastise him again.

But he did perfectly, and set the kettle back on the table. I poured my own water and removed the tea bag from its packet.

"Set the bag-"

I glanced over and saw that Connor had already torn his own bag out and was setting it in his cup. I sighed.

"Gently, now. Let the flavors steep."

"We just wait? For how long?"

"A while."

Connor eased back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. The boy was not very patient, that much was obvious.

"So. How have your classes been? I haven't heard from you in some time."

I failed to realize just how ridiculous (and paternal) the question sounded until it was out of my mouth and hanging awkwardly between us. But Connor, fortunately, was unperturbed; he was quietly tracing the design on his saucer with his index finger as I spoke.

"They're fine. I have a paper due next week for one of my English classes."

"Really? Have you started it yet? What are you writing about?"

He grimaced. "No. I've barely thought about it. And the subject is Charles Dickens's _Great Expectations._"

"Ah, yes. I remember that one. It's been years since I read it, of course, but it was rather enjoyable from what I recall."

"I thought it was stuffy."

That brought a wry smile to my lips. "Stuffy?"

"Sort of pompous, I guess." He shrugged again, still drawing out that design on the cup. His finger - callused and hard, I noticed then; not exactly the hands of a student - ran across the swirled blue and white lines. "I don't really like reading books from that period."

"Understandable. It was a completely different time."

"Mhm."

A silence fell between us, though I noted that it was not nearly as uncomfortable as our past ones. Connor was staring into his cup then, thoughtful.

"Your hands," I said, motioning to them with a sweep of my own. "Do you play sports?"

Connor perked up. "No. Why?"

"Your fingers are callused. Play guitar, perhaps? Another string instrument?"

"Oh." He held up his hands then, examined them in the warm afternoon light. "No, neither of those. My guardian owns a few horses. I spend a lot of time working in the stables when I go home for break."

"Who is your guardian?"

Connor's mouth set to a thin line. He seemed conflicted, and for a moment I thought he might respond-

"Do you think the tea's ready by now?" he asked instead, moving smoothly to another subject.

I was curious, but I decided to humor him. We were finally making headway with our tentative relationship, and I wasn't prepared to spoil it.

"I believe so," I said, taking my own cup in my hands. "Now, don't hold yours like that, you're going to drop it..."

The remainder of the afternoon passed rather amiably. We talked about school, and I told him briefly about my work - skimming over the sensitive details, of course. He never brought up his guardian again, and I did not question him further. I was painfully curious, but the boy would bring it up on his own time.

"I have something for you," I said as he stood to leave. Nearly two hours of light conversation (and tea lessons) had passed us by before he realized that he needed to be back on campus.

Connor paused in the front room as I returned to the kitchen. I had almost forgotten about the photograph I'd set on the counter; it was hidden away behind a few other cups and saucers that I'd neglected to set back in the cupboards.

I handed him the photograph, and my son's guarded expression seemed to melt. He ran a finger across the surface of it.

"This is..."

"Your mother and I a few months after we met. That was a little over two years before you were born."

He stared at the picture with solemn eyes. Ziio and myself were seated on a park bench; my arm was around her middle, and she was leaning against me, laughing as she pointed at something in a book she held between us. A mutual friend had taken the photo for us long ago, and the picture's age showed in the yellowing at the corners and the crease through the middle.

"Central Park in New York," I provided when I saw him look up. "It was my first time in the city. She was showing me around."

"I see," he said quietly. "This is... If this is yours, I can't-"

I held up a hand. "No. Take it. I have a copy of my own."

"I... Thank you."

Connor smiled then: warm and radiant, just like his mother. I saw her in his eyes.

And I think that was one of the first true, genuine smiles I had seen from my boy.


	8. Information

And the plot rears its head...! Originally this was just going to be a collection of oneshots, but...yeah. I have a bad habit of letting these things run away from me, haha. But in any case thank you so much for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm pretty much blown away by how much attention this story is getting, but I greatly appreciate it and I'm glad that you're enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. :D

* * *

**_Information_**

A room full of Animus units hummed peacefully beneath me. I watched them from my vantage point on the second floor: the scientists moving back and forth between units while men and women were strapped into them, eyes closed and dreaming of lives long past. It was quiet, save for the gentle noises of the machinery and the whisperings of the scientists to their eager assistants.

There was a time when I was one of those assistants, working patiently as Reginald Birch accessed the past of another Assassin.

There was also a time when I was the Assassin tuned into the Animus.

But that was so long ago that I do not care to think back on it. I'm too high up on the social ladder now to be bothered with running the Animus units, or to deal with the Assassins themselves. I prefer to observe from afar.

It was William Johnson who eventually found me at my perch that day. He clasped his hands behind his back and watched for a moment before he spoke.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said after a moment's pause.

"Good afternoon, William. What's on your mind?"

"Well." He hesitated briefly, gaze flickering from the Animus units to me. "I suppose I should start by apologizing for looking into your personal affairs."

I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. "Dare I ask what you mean by that?"

"It was purely by accident, I assure you. Thomas has been fishing about for information in the underground and I...well, I discovered the existence of your son. Did you-"

"I already know about him, yes. His name is Connor," I said, feeling more than just a bit uneasy. "Does Hickey know about this? Or Charles? Or, god forbid, Church?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Thomas might have an inkling, but I haven't shared the information with anyone else just yet."

"Good. Don't tell them."

Johnson raised an eyebrow, but gave me a nod. "I see. Does your son know that you're...?"

"No. And I would prefer to keep it that way," I said as I stared down on the scientists, the sleeping Assassins. "He's not ready yet."

"Understandable. I was just curious, sir, if you ever considered putting him through one of the tests? He shares your DNA. He might have something more to offer."

I sighed quietly. "I have thought about it, to be perfectly honest," I admitted. "Though I highly doubt that he would give us more insight than I already have."

"He might be more suited to the Animus than you were."

My frown deepened. I imagined Connor going through all of that - the endless nightmares, the pains of the bleeding effect, the horrors of the Animus that managed to creep into your every day life - and I felt...an odd sense of guilt. Normally I cared nothing for the Assassins who were forced into the machines, but the thought of my son going through everything I had...

"It would all be for the good of the Order, sir. Perhaps he could join us someday when it's all over."

"Perhaps," I agreed. _That_ I had thought on, briefly. Connor might make an excellent Templar. He seemed intelligent enough, and I was sure that he was physically fit. The boy was in the prime of his life, after all, and he came from good genes.

But I wasn't ready to scare him off with talk of conspiracies and past memories just yet.

"I'll think on it a bit more," I told him. "But William... How did my son's name come up in your work? He's not connected with the Assassins, as far as I know."

"But he is."

For a moment it felt as though someone had dropped a brick in my stomach. I turned to face my old friend for the first time, my mouth thinned to a line.

"Oh?"

"He is staying with Achilles Davenport. I trust you remember him?" Johnson asked, smiling ruefully.

My grin mirrored his. "All too well. That blasted man... I thought we'd dealt with him already. Why is Connor with him?"

"Apparently he was connected with the wo- your son's mother's tribe for some time before we brought him in. They were old friends. I'm assuming she asked him to care for Connor after she passed."

"But why Achilles and not someone in her tribe? Someone that he grew up with, someone he trusts?"

"Perhaps she trusted Achilles more than we know."

I leaned forward on the railing in front of us, deep in thought. Why Achilles Davenport, indeed? Had he already managed to rub off on my son? Was he teaching him the ways of the Assassin Brotherhood? Davenport knew full well what sort of fate awaited both him and Connor if he was.

"Do you suppose he broke his promise?" Johnson asked, his voice low, almost grim. "Would he risk your son's life like that?"

"I doubt it. But still..."

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

"Please."

"Take your son in. Get him out of that toxic environment as soon as possible. We can send someone to deal with Davenport by the end of the week."

"If only it were so easy," I said with a dark chuckle. "Connor is a headstrong and stubborn lad. Like his mother. It would be very difficult to pull him away from someone who helped to raise him. We didn't meet until a few weeks ago. I...didn't even know he existed until he sent me a message."

"Oh," Johnson said with a note of defeat. "That does complicate things."

"That doesn't mean I am giving up. I will see what I can do. If I can't pull him away from Davenport, then perhaps I can still find out if he's been taught the ways of the Assassins. I can put a stop to it before it's too late."

"And then bring him in for the tests?"

I clenched my jaw. "I will think on it. One step at a time for now."

"Indeed."

Johnson fell silent again, as did I. My mind was a flurry of activity, of thoughts, of doubts and horrors. Why did Ziio put him in Achilles's hands? Was she planning something? She knew full well that I was a Templar - that was one of the main reasons as to why we had separated - but would she put our son's life in danger like that?

She most likely knew what happened to Achilles. She knew that we had brought him in and tortured the Assassin secrets out of him. She knew his promise not to recruit or practice the Creed.

But still...

"I will leave you to it, sir," Johnson said after a few tense moments.

"William," I started unevenly, "thank you for sharing this with me."

"You're welcome."

I stared down at the Animus units for a while longer after Johnson left my side. The men and women below were still hard at work, oblivious.

Oh, Ziio, I thought, putting a tired hand to my face. What were you thinking? Why do this to our son?

Perhaps there was still time. I could still put a stop to it all before Achilles went too far - provided he was even sharing Assassin secrets with Connor. There was still a chance that he kept his promise...

But I could take no chances.


	9. A Crafty Man

_**A Crafty Man**_

I found myself back on Achilles' roof a few days after I saw Haytham. It was a cool autumn morning, and the manor walls were slick with frost. I took my time climbing. I had nowhere to go and nothing else to do.

The sun was just barely over the horizon when I finally made it to the top. I reached into my pocket and removed the picture that Haytham had given me: the one of him and Ista, together and happier than I'd ever known them.

Ista told me a few stories about Haytham when she was still alive. I remember her telling me that he was a man with good intentions, and that he was brave and strong. But he was cold too; and she could deal with this at first. But at some point in their relationship he'd frozen over, and she lost sight of the man she fell in love with.

Looking at the photo, though... There was still love there. And warmth. I could see it in both Ista and Haytham's eyes.

Where did it all go wrong?

I'd stared at the picture so much since Haytham gave it to me and I still didn't have an answer.

Maybe one day I could ask Haytham for his side of the story.

Maybe.

I climbed back down when I knew Achilles would be awake and ready for the day. The Old Man was waiting for me in the kitchen when I made my way back inside, brushing the dew from my clothing.

"Good morning, Connor," he said, absently stirring his oatmeal. "Up to anything today?"

I picked through the cabinets until I found an apple. "We're not training?"

"You're a full-fledged Assassin now. No need for that unless I think you're slipping." He grinned at me over his bowl. "And you're not, are you?"

"Of course not."

"Good."

Achilles set his spoon down while I worked at the apple. "Connor," he began, and I knew immediately from his tone that it wouldn't be something I wanted to hear, "I didn't ask you about your visit yesterday."

I chewed for a moment longer than I needed to. "It was fine," I said. "And no, he never brought up his work. Not really. We just talked about school. Stuff like that."

He raised an eyebrow. "'Not really'? What do you mean by that?"

"He sort of talked about it but he was...very guarded. He said he worked in technologies."

"That's what Abstergo is known best for, besides pharmaceuticals," Achilles said, his chin resting on his carefully folded hands. "You didn't ask him about it?"

"No. I don't want to make him suspicious. And...I'm visiting him because I want to."

Achilles was quiet for a long time. I started to fidget with the remains of the apple in my hand.

"I understand. He is your father," he said quietly.

"And I understand that you want to keep tabs on him, but-"

"Why did you wait until now to contact him?"

"Because I..."

I stopped. Bit my lip. The words caught in my throat and stayed there. But Achilles waited patiently, his gaze thoughtful and...gentle? Curious? It was hard to tell.

"I...don't know, really. I guess I was intimidated. Everything I knew about him was either from you or my mother. I wanted to see the real Haytham Kenway."

"I see. And is the real Haytham Kenway what you were expecting?"

I thought about that for a moment. I wasn't sure what I was expecting at first, to be perfectly honest. Would he be as menacing and dark as the Templars were always made out to be? Would he be cold, like Ista said he'd become?

I could see a sort of coldness there, sometimes. But there was something else about him. Something...not fatherly, exactly, but I could see a sort of warmth when he spoke to me. Like he was finally starting to get used to me, as I was to him.

"No," I finally said. "He's not. Not at all."

Achilles watched me for some time. "I can see you mean that in a good way."

"I guess." I shrugged again. "I don't know. My head's a mess."

"Understandable. A lot has happened these last few weeks. You met your father and you've become a full member of the brotherhood. It is a lot to take in," Achilles said as he pushed himself to his feet. I took his cane from beside his chair and handed it to him.

He reached up to put a hand on my shoulder. "I know I don't say it that often, but I'm proud of you, boy."

Rare emotion welled up in my chest. Achilles never admitted these sorts of things, but when he did, I couldn't help but feel...well, proud of myself as well.

"Thank you," I said, hoping to keep the tremor from my tone.

Achilles patted my shoulder once before he left my side. I was about to speak again - to ask if any of the neighbors had stopped by asking for help, or something of the like - when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the caller ID. And I frowned curiously.

It was Haytham. Speak of the devil. I left Achilles, pressed 'accept', and put the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Connor. Did I wake you?" he asked with something like arrogance in his tone. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"No. I've been up for a while now."

"Ah. Productive. But I would expect no less."

We both hesitated for a moment. I glanced back in the kitchen, where Achilles was pretending not to listen as he set his bowl and spoon in the sink.

"What is it you wanted?" I suddenly asked; and maybe I sounded too harsh, because Haytham cleared his throat before he continued.

"I was actually curious if perhaps you would like to stay with me for a weekend."

His request was so sudden that I found myself at a complete loss. We'd only known each other for a month at best, and in that time we'd only met about three times. Did he already feel _that_ comfortable around me? I fumbled for words for a moment, and Achilles finally lifted his head to look me in the eye. He raised a questioning eyebrow, and I waved him off before I stepped into the hall.

"I apologize," Haytham said before I could respond. "It sounded like a good idea a while ago and now I realize how foolish it is."

"No. Um, no," I said with an awkward cough. "It's fine. Really. I think it might be...interesting."

Haytham gave me a dry laugh. "You don't have to lie. Listen, maybe it would be better if we just-"

"No, I'd like to stay over for a while," I said before I could stop myself. Some part of me disagreed; it was too early, too soon, too out of character for Haytham - or what I knew about him, anyway.

"Really?" he asked, clearly surprised. "Well, that's... I'm glad. When is your next free weekend? I could pick you up from your dormitory or your...guardian's house."

"The dorm is fine. And I'll be free in about two weeks."

"Excellent. I will email you about it by Wednesday."

We hung up a while later, after we both tried (and failed) to make small talk about the weather, about our last meeting, about what kind of homework I had for the week. I wandered back into the kitchen then, mentally preparing myself for Achilles's questions.

"It was Haytham," I said before he could ask.

"I see. He invited you over again, I take it?"

"For a weekend."

Achilles frowned. "Already? You two just met."

"Exactly what I was thinking," I said, taking a carton of orange juice from the fridge and a glass from the counter. "Do you think he knows something? He sounded...awkward. Like he wasn't sure, either."

"I doubt it, but with Haytham Kenway, you never know. He's a very crafty man."

I took a sip of the juice. "Hm."

"I take it you're going?"

"Yes. I think it might be a good idea," I said, tentative. "I can always ask him to take me back to the dorm if something goes wrong."

"I suppose." Achilles hesitated at the sink, hand still resting on the tap. "I know I shouldn't be worried about this, but I am. That man is planning something. I can feel it."

"It might just be what he says it is: a visit."

"Yes, but..." The old man sighed and shook his head. "I know you'll be careful. But if any of his fellow Templars show up-"

"I'll hide myself."

"Good."

I tilted the glass back and forth in my hand. That feeling - the Assassin's instinct that Achilles had instilled in me with years of training, perhaps - was rising, growing stronger. I looked to Achilles for more advice, but he was silent, leaning against the countertop.

"Watch out for him, Connor," he finally said as he pushed himself back to his uneasy feet. "That is all I can say for now."


	10. Ignorance

Sorry for the delay with this chapter! I'm down to the last two weeks of the semester so the university's throwing tons of work (mostly papers) at me and I haven't had much time for recreational writing. Things will be calming down soon enough though so hopefully updates will be less sporadic around then. :) Thank you once again for your patience, as well as your reviews, follows, and favorites!

* * *

**_Ignorance_**

A new Assassin - one that had been caught on Hickey's information from the underground - had been captured and brought to Abstergo's headquarters. I received the call on Sunday night, shortly after hanging up with Connor.

I was ecstatic, to say the very least. For the moment, our Animus units were occupied primarily by volunteers and the very wealthy; no actual Assassins had been placed under observation in several weeks, given the fact that the majority of the east coast division had been decimated several decades prior.

The entire Animus section of the building was abuzz when I arrived at work the following morning. Scientists and their assistants had all but abandoned their stations to get a look at our newest acquisition, and since everyone else seemed suddenly busy, it fell on me to calm the masses.

"Back to work, gentlemen," I told a group of men clamoring about the elevator exit. Our newest subject was up on the tenth floor - the private wing, where we questioned possible Assassins - and no doubt they were hoping to catch a glimpse of the young man or woman. "I know you have plenty of work to finish. Get to it."

They dispersed with respectful but hesitant nods. I boarded the elevator, swiped my identification card, and waited patiently as it brought me to the private wing.

A few more of my employees were hiding out in the corridor, talking amongst themselves in whispers. They scattered as I passed.

I wanted to shake my head, to appear more exasperated so they would get the point, but it was hard to be upset with them on a day like that one. I still remembered the years when I shadowed Reginald through the building, hopeful and excited each time we brought in a prominent Assassin for review. I was more experienced now, to be sure, but I could still recall being in their shoes.

Johnson was waiting for me outside what I presumed to be the new subject's room, given that it was swarmed by even more employees. Johnson himself was ushering them away with frantic waves of his hand, but they paid him little mind until I stepped forward and cleared my throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, stepping easily through the crowd, which parted like fish from a shark. "We are in the midst of a very important experiment, and none of you are needed here for the moment. You can be sure your supervisors will hear about your absences if you do not return to your positions immediately-"

I turned and most of them had cleared away. Johnson shot me a grateful smile.

"I didn't think they'd ever leave," he said.

"Today is exciting. I can hardly blame them."

"Indeed."

Johnson put a hand on my shoulder and we entered the room together. It was stark white, as the majority of the Abstergo building was, but from the windows we had a magnificent view of the city beyond, of the clear blue sky and its few scattered clouds. There were few creature comforts here; several chairs, a desk for the lead scientist. An Animus unit hummed in the center. It was empty for the moment, but I knew our subject would be there soon.

The lead scientist stood as I entered. "Mr. Kenway."

"Benjamin," I said, giving my colleague a polite incline of my head.

"The subject is on his way here. He just woke up a while ago," Church said, nodding absently to the adjacent bedroom. Each of the private Animus rooms had one; when I followed Church's gaze, I could see another man beyond the pane of observation glass, shaking his head blearily. Charles and another few scientists were with him.

"Tell me more about our guest. You were too rushed on the phone last night," I said.

"Of course." Church shuffled through a few of the files on his desk and brought them to me.

"His name is Jacob Zenger. He's been hiding out in New York for some time now - not sure how many years exactly. We only just became aware of his presence, thanks to Hickey."

"You're sure he's the Assassin we're looking for?"

"Not quite, sir," Johnson answered then. "He's affiliated the Assassins. With Achilles Davenport, to be precise. Thomas caught him leaving the neighborhood sometime ago."

"That is good enough for now, I suppose," I conceded, setting the files aside. They told me little more than Church and Johnson already had: the man was originally from Europe, and he had a wife and child back in the city. How long before they would raise the alarm? Or had Hickey already taken care of that?

I was about to ask Johnson this when Charles led Zenger from his room. The man was still dazed, the red hair of his moustache limp and frayed, but I could see a hard resolve in his eyes. His hands were clenched at his sides, and if looks could kill, we all would have been dead before any of us could raise a hand.

"Welcome, Mr. Zenger," Church said, bringing a clipboard to the Animus unit. His assistant hurried to bring it to life.

"Not much of a warm welcome," Zenger said, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his bald head. There was a red mark there, in the form of what I presumed must have been a baton, or some other sort of blunt object. I frowned. Church wasn't supposed to be using too much force with the subjects... I made a note to speak with him later, in private.

"It was rather difficult to give you a warm welcome when you were trying to fight us," Charles said then. His voice had taken on a certain darkness, one that I had not heard since his last interrogation with a supposed Assassin. I was loathe to admit it, but it chilled even _me_ when he spoke. I could see that his tone had a similar effect on Zenger, who put up his best front, though the quirk of his lips betrayed him.

"What did you expect? You came bursting into my home out of nowhere-"

"Never mind that. Please, have a seat," Church said with a dismissive wave of his hand. The Animus had hummed to life then; its panels lit up with a soft blue glow, and the headpiece slid away to admit Zenger. The man stared at it dubiously.

"What in the _world _is that thing?" he asked, voice low.

"An Animus unit," I said. Zenger turned his gaze to me.

"Haytham Kenway," he said suddenly.

"You've heard of me, then."

"Few in my line of work haven't."

"I take it to mean that you're referring to the Assassins?"

"I work security at a high school. I'm sure your little file says that," he said, nodding to the papers I still had clutched in my hand. "A lot of the kids have your Abstergo things nowadays. It's a rare day when I don't hear the term being thrown around."

"Hm," I hummed thoughtfully. "My name isn't usually associated with the entertainment side of the business."

Zenger had nothing to say to that.

"Shall we begin?" Church suddenly asked, breaking the thick silence that had settled over us. "Mr. Zenger, if you please..."

Zenger stared at the Animus. "I'm not-"

"All you need to do is lie down. It's completely painless, I assure you," Charles said.

"I'm not getting on that thing."

Church breathed a quiet, dramatic sigh. "If you insist." He nodded to one of the bodyguards nearby.

He reacted immediately. The man grabbed onto Zenger's arm and steered him to the machine. It took Zenger a moment to process what was going on - he was still dazed after a good dose of sedatives, no doubt - but when he did, he struck out with his elbow and landed a neat blow on the bodyguard's abdomen. The man hissed, released his grip ever so slightly, and Zenger slipped away.

Church shuffled back, arms raised to defend himself as Zenger vaulted over the Animus and struck out toward him. Charles, fortunately, was not so cowardly; he punched Zenger once in the chin, again in the chest, and grabbed him forcefully as the man doubled over with a grunt of pain.

"Well done, Charles," I said, stepping forward. "Church, if you find that you cannot keep the subject under control-"

"It won't happen again, sir," Church said hastily.

Charles steered Zenger onto the machine while Church typed a few commands into the on-board computer. His fingers were shaking lightly. I couldn't help but scoff. What had Reginald seen in this man? I'd known Church for several decades then and I still found little merit in his presence. He was intelligent, to be sure, but he was a coward, and-

"We're ready to begin," Church said, breaking me from my line of thought.

"Very well. How far back are you going?"

"Not far at all. A few years - back to the point when he should have been meeting with Achilles, if the two knew each other."

Johnson raised an eyebrow. "We're not checking on his ancestor's memories?"

"That's not _all _the Animus is good for," Church said with a pretentious grin. "There's no need. For now we just need proof that Davenport is still meeting with Assassins. Recruiting them. We can learn more from there."

"Ah."

We gathered around the computer while Charles and the bodyguard strapped Zenger into place. The man was still struggling, but something about him seemed dull, muted, as though he was finally giving up.

"Let's see... This should do," Church said as he typed a date into the unit. The headpiece slid back over Zenger's face and blinked. Charles joined us as a series of images materialized on the screen.

A house filled with children, all clamoring for their haggard mother's attention.

A battlefield strewn with bodies.

A skyline blotted grey by smoke.

A city - I recognized it instantly as New York - materializing on the horizon, bright and welcoming.

A woman's gentle smile.

The laughter of a child.

Church growled an obscenity under his breath. "Damned thing. He's fighting it."

"We should take him back offline. Give him more of a chance to recover," Johnson suggested.

"There's no time. We-"

I remembered this. I remembered it all too clearly, and I knew instantly what Zenger was going through: a turmoil of emotion, a sort of sensory overload. I stepped away from the others.

"Mr. Zenger. Do you hear me?" I said over their voices. They stopped immediately.

"Mr. Zenger. I need for you to calm down. Breathe slowly. Can you do this for me?"

Zenger, of course, made no response, but I could see the flicker of his eyes moving behind closed lids.

"Breathe, Mr. Zenger. The Animus will not hurt you unless you allow it to. Calm yourself. Empty your mind..."

I could see the images on the computer screen slowing, becoming clearer.

"Excellent work, Mr. Zenger. Just keep breathing. Focus on that and nothing else. The rest will come naturally," I said, ignoring the curious gazes of my colleagues.

"Mr. Kenway," Charles breathed. I shook my head.

"Now is not the time to explain. Look," I said, pointing back to the screen.

The picture was nearly crystal clear. Zenger was in a mansion of some sort, one adorned in a classic style that I recognized vaguely as colonial. He was standing in the center of what appeared to be a living room, while Davenport was seated beside a magnificent fireplace.

Davenport did have good taste; I'd give him that.

Zenger was the first to speak. "I believe it would be best to take action soon," he was saying. "The Templars are not stupid. They'll put two and two together before long."

"I'm aware of that," Davenport said, lifting his tired hand to massage his temples. "Still..."

A door slammed shut. Davenport and Zenger looked up.

Someone else entered the room. He spoke, but I couldn't quite hear the words coming from his mouth.

"Achilles," the newcomer said. He stopped when he saw Zenger and gave him a polite nod. "Hello, Mr. Zenger."

Zenger straightened. "Hello, Connor. Back already?"

"We were let out early today."

Davenport motioned to the empty armchair beside him. "Have a seat, boy."

My entire body went cold. I could see Johnson looking urgently at me from the corner of my eye, but I made no move to respond. I feared that he might see the expression on my face, see my surprise, my fear.

Davenport, you bastard. Was he really putting Connor's - my _son's_ - life on the line by trying to induct him into that damned Assassin brotherhood? Just what exactly was that fool thinking? Connor must have been a high school student at the time of this memory. No more than a teenager.

My chest tightened, and my breath caught in the back of my throat. I couldn't hear them speaking anymore.

But wait.

Connor was taking something from his backpack. A slip of paper. A report card of some sort? He was showing it to Davenport, who nodded approvingly.

Perhaps I was wrong. It was possible that they had kept my son in the dark all this time. That he wasn't a part of all of this. That-

"Who is that boy?" Church suddenly said, pointing to Connor.

"I'm not sure. I was not aware that Achilles took in strays," Charles said, eyes narrowed. I had half a mind to reach out and grab him, but I restrained myself with considerable effort.

"Something else to look into, I suppose," Church said.

"I doubt it's necessary."

Both men turned to stare at me. Johnson, on the other hand, was looking carefully away, at Zenger.

"What do you mean, sir?" Charles asked. "He might have heard something. We could-"

"Let him be for now. I highly doubt that Davenport would have said anything of consequence around a teenaged boy."

"He should be older now. An adult. What if they've trained him?"

I faltered then. "I still-"

"I think it would be worth looking into, don't you?" Church prodded. There was suspicion in his gaze, sharp and accusing.

"I will speak to Hickey about it," I conceded after a long moment of silence. "_You _will continue to work with Zenger."

"You're not staying? Don't you want to see what more they have to say?"

"I have matters to attend to," I told them, turning briskly on my heel before they could stop me.

If our plans still worked out, then Connor would be coming to stay with me that coming weekend. It would give me a chance to speak with him, to dig deeper into his relationship with Achilles Davenport without (hopefully) scaring him off.

It would also be a chance to save him if he was not as ignorant as I thought.


	11. Ship in a Bottle

Apologies for the very long delay! I wish I had an excuse better than "I was reading and playing a lot of video games now that classes are done!" + the new Animal Crossing, haha... Anyway, Connor and Haytham's visit is longer than this one chapter, so even though this is a tad short, no worries. There is definitely more to come! :)

* * *

**_Ship in a Bottle_**

Haytham came for me in the early evening, just as the sun was beginning to set. I waited for him outside my dorm building, a backpack thrown over one shoulder and my hands clenched in my pockets. I'd tried all week to convince myself that everything would be all right - that it would just be a simple weekend get-together - but I still couldn't stop myself from worrying.

He was my father, but he was still a highly respected member of the Templar Order - and I was still an Assassin. Our shared blood could never change that.

I took a deep breath to steel myself. A group was playing with a frisbee on the lawn across from the dorms; I watched them for a while, even thought about joining them to blow off some steam, until I saw a familiar black car stop beside the curb.

The passenger window rolled down and I saw my father's face. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

I opened the door, tossed my backpack in, and sat down. The window rolled back up and I felt the sudden sensation of being trapped.

Haytham glanced at the backpack on my lap before he pulled away from the building and started down the road. "Do you have everything you need in there? Should we stop by your guardian's house?"

"I travel light," I assured him.

He almost seemed disappointed when he replied. "Ah. Very well."

"It'll only be one night."

"Of course."

Haytham was quiet after that, his hands clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel. The stereo was on, but it was so quiet that I could barely tell what was playing - some kind of old rock song that might've been popular in the '60s. Weird. Haytham didn't seem like the type.

"You finished your paper last week, didn't you? The one on _Great Expectations_?" he suddenly asked.

"Yeah."

"What did you think of it?"

"The book? Pretentious, like I said."

I turned and caught Haytham's eye. He was grinning carefully.

"How unfortunate. It was one of my favorites when I was in school. I didn't think it was _that _pretentious."

"Maybe...however many years ago," I said without thinking.

He chuckled. "Oh, Connor, you don't think I'm _that_ old, surely?"

That was all it took to break the tension that had built up between us over the past few weeks. Haytham asked me about a few of my other classes - "What are they teaching you in history right now? Talk to me as soon as they bring up the American Revolution. The professors in this country tend to fluff it up in favor of the Yankees." - as we drove through his neighborhood, up his driveway, and into the garage.

"Is anyone picking you up tomorrow?" he asked once he'd cut the engine.

"Trying to get rid of me already?"

"Of course not. I was going to offer to drop you off myself."

"I was counting on it."

That effortless grin again. He pulled himself from the car and slammed the door before I could say anything else.

"I would be happy to drive you, then. Just say the word when you're sick of me."

I managed a slow smile of my own. "I'll do that."

Haytham's garage was double the size of my room back at the dorms. I found myself, out of habit, scanning it the way Achilles had taught me: "Look for places to climb. Look for exits." There were rafters above, but so many tools along the walls that I'd never find a proper handhold. Still, the place was organized and well-kept, just like the rest of his house.

"I haven't used any of these things in such a long time," Haytham said.

"You could fit a ship in here. Do you really need a garage this _big_?"

He chuckled again. "Not really, no. I suppose I could throw a boat or two in here if I needed to, but I haven't sailed in years."

I raised a curious eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes," he said, unlocking the door to let us both into the main house. "It was fun for a time, but I've lost my taste for it."

"Do you get seasick?"

He shot me a look over his shoulder. "Of course not. My father took me out so many times as a child that I simply lost interest."

I tried not to shrug and followed him into the house.

Until then, I had only seen the foyer, a front room, and the kitchen. His garage led into a bare hallway, but beyond that was a living room decorated in a series of whites and blacks. It was...tasteful, I guess, but still less than I expected from someone like him. For some reason I'd imagined him seated in a grand, high-ceilinged room like the ones I'd seen in shots of the palaces in the UK.

On the bright side, it wasn't as mindlessly white as the lobby in Abstergo.

"I suppose I could put on some tea or coffee," Haytham said absently. I looked then and saw that the living room was connected to the kitchen through another short hallway that I hadn't noticed before. I started to tail him - and quickly stopped myself when I realized I'd seem like a lost puppy.

"Do you have water?" I asked. He replied with a short laugh.

"I do. I think I'll take tea."

"Of course you will."

Haytham busied himself in the kitchen, and I set my bag down beside one of the sofas. None of them looked very comfortable. I bent down to touch one and it didn't _feel _very comfortable.

I really hoped he didn't expect me to sleep on any of them.

"You could turn on the television if you'd like," Haytham called from the kitchen. "I'm curious to see what kind of trash TV you like to watch."

I scowled to myself. "I don't watch much TV."

"Really? What sort of teenager are you?"

"I'll be twenty in a year."

"My, my. Surely that means you're nearly an adult."

Smartass.

I wandered to the TV anyway - surprisingly smaller than I thought it would be - and picked through the basket of remotes beside it. One for a bluray player, one for a VCR (I thought Achilles was the only person left in the country to own one of those things), one for cable, another for the actual TV... Where would I even begin? I gave up my search, stuffed my hands in my pockets, and wandered through the room.

There were no actual photographs on the walls or any of the tabletops. That was the first thing I noticed. Instead there were paintings - no prints - and a few meaningless knick knacks. Most of them were bottled ships, tiny intricate things I'd only seen in movies. I examined a few of them for a moment before I looked away.

Where was the picture of him and my mother? Thrown in a dresser where he could pull it out and look at it when he felt guilty enough? My jaw clenched. Mine was set on my bedside, where I saw it every morning when I woke up.

"Find anything of interest?"

I didn't turn right away, but I could hear Haytham returning from the kitchen. There was a clink as he set my glass on the coffee table before he came to stand beside me.

The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"There aren't any pictures up of you and Mom."

I saw his expression fall from the corner of my eye. "Ah," he murmured. "I had a few here and there for quite a while, actually. Several years."

"You took them down after she left you?"

"I suppose you could say that," he said. The tension brought a vein in his neck to focus. "I was...upset when it happened. For a while I was so angry that I didn't want to see her, didn't want to think about her... Though she was the only person on my mind for years. If I'd known she was pregnant when we separated..."

I waited for him to continue, but Haytham had stopped talking and wandered off. There wasn't anger in his tone, not like before; it was only sadness now. Regret. It confused me. All these years, all this time, and I'd thought...

"I thought you just didn't want to see her again."

"I wish more than anything that she would have let me, but she refused it. And I gave up. I suppose that was a mistake. All these years and I never knew I had a son of my own," he said, wistful. "Your mother was stubborn, but I still..."

He stopped again. When I looked at him he was staring into his cup, watching the steam rise and swirl around his face.

And the emotion suddenly left him. "It's too late for all of that now," he said, his words sharp and final. "No use dwelling on it."

Not five minutes in and I'd already managed to hit a sore spot. I wanted badly to question him further about his relationship with my mother, but I could already see that it wouldn't go anywhere - not unless I wanted him to dump me back out on the street. I took a deep breath and went to take my water, only to find a cup of what looked like red tea.

"I found a new blend several days ago. I noticed that you seemed to enjoy what I gave you last time, so I thought you might like to try this as well," Haytham said when he noticed my pause. He brought his own cup to his lips.

I sniffed mine. "It smells...like fruit."

"I would assume so. It's a raspberry blend."

I ignored his sarcasm and took a cautious sip. It was...good, surprisingly. The tea flavor was still off-putting but the raspberry wasn't bad at all.

"It's good," I said, and Haytham smiled.

"Excellent. I was hoping you would like it."

I took another polite sip while he was still watching. It was hard to think of anything else to say; there was nothing in the room that I could bring up, like an interesting souvenir from a trip or a photograph of a relative I hadn't seen before. So instead we stood in awkward silence, our earlier conversation still hanging heavy between us.

"So," I started lamely, "how was...um, work this week?"

Haytham gave me a strange look before he replied - one that he tried to hide before I could see it. "It was all right. Same as always," he said after a moment's hesitation.

Did he know something? A tiny spark of fear began to build up in my chest - and I crushed it before it could grow.

Instead I took a lighter approach. "What do you do, exactly?" I asked, trying to look casually over the few things he had displayed in the room while also watching for his reaction.

Haytham's face was smooth and expressionless as he spoke. "I work for a company called Abstergo. I suppose you've heard of them?"

It took me a second to reply. I hadn't expected him to just..._come out with it_, after all.

"I, um...yeah, of course," I said, wishing I could kick myself right then and there. If Achilles had heard me stumble around like that... And around the Grand Master, no less.

"There are several divisions. I suspect you're most familiar with the entertainment one - they make video games and the like. They probably run a lot of the websites you visit. I work with one of the others as a supervisor."

A supervisor indeed.

"Sounds like you're pretty important."

"You could say that."

I reached out to touch one of bottled ships, one that resembled what I thought looked like a pirate ship. The glass was smooth and cool beneath my fingertips.

"What about you, Connor?" he asked suddenly. "Do you have a part-time job, or are you only going to school for now?"

"Just school. I don't think I'd have much time for a job right now."

"Ah, but you have no after-school activities, do you?"

"No. But class work keeps me busy."

"I would imagine."

Haytham began to sit then, his cup still clasped in his hands. The tension hadn't left his neck or his arms, but his face was remarkably calm.

"Your guardian, now..."

I felt my own hands clench. Here it was.

"I would like to meet him - or her - sometime soon, if that would be at all possible."

"Why?" I asked, voice steady. I was getting better at this.

Haytham gave me a careful look. "Because I'd like to know what sort of person raised my son. Now, don't give me that face - you seem to have turned out just fine. I'm sure it was a remarkable person. But still, you must understand-"

"He's very busy. He doesn't live very close."

"You manage the trip to see him every few weekends."

"That's because I'm his-"

"Look." Haytham stopped me by holding up his free hand. "There is no need to be so defensive. What's wrong with me meeting the man who took care of you all these years? Perhaps I would simply like to thank him for what he's done. I mean him no harm, Connor."

There was something ominous about his words. Something dark, now that I knew exactly who he was and what sorts of things he had done to the Assassins.

"I guess that wouldn't hurt," I found myself saying. I had to improvise something; he'd know if I was scrambling. "You could meet him sometime."

"Good! Very good. Perhaps we could arrange something before you go."

"We could."

Wonderful. Now I was only putting off the inevitable. I sat on the arm of a nearby sofa and imagined the reaming Achilles would give me when he found out how badly this had all gone-

But I wasn't here for Achilles, was I? I looked across the room, to my father, who was sitting placidly in a chair while he drank his tea. He seemed every bit the cunning bastard Achilles had made him out to be, but still. I was here to get to know this cunning bastard, and not entirely for the brotherhood's benefit.

"I actually got that Dickens paper back," I said.

"Really? How did it go?"

"High B."

"I take it that was better than you expected."

"Much."

"Ah, Connor, Connor," he said, shaking his head. "You should have let me help. I could have given you a solid A. I know that book front and back."

"Yeah, right."

"I've read almost all of Dickens' works. He was an excellent writer for his time."

"And I guess you've memorized all of Shakespeare too?"

"Only the important parts."

It took me a moment to realize I was smiling along with him. I tried to wipe the expression from my face and found it strangely difficult.

"What's your next assignment?" he asked.

"We're staring theater, actually. A play by Oscar...Wilde? I forgot what it's called."

"I expect it's _The Importance of Being Earnest_. It's a popular one in college classes."

"Yeah, that's it."

"I'm not much of a theater buff, so I'm afraid you're on your own for this one," he said with a sigh. "A play might be easier for you, though. It's all dialogue."

"If it's anything like Dickens-"

"Oh, hush." He set his empty cup aside and motion to the shelf of bottled ships. "I saw you staring at those earlier. Do you have an interest in the sea?"

"One of our neighbors does. Or did. He talks about one he used to sail all the time. The _Aquila_, I think."

"The _Aquila..._"

"Yeah."

"I see," he said thoughtfully. Haytham paused for a moment, then added, "I mentioned that my father used to take me sailing. He sent me those, actually."

My grandfather. Curiosity got the better of me.

"Is he...still around?"

"Oh, yes. I haven't spoken to him in ages, though," Haytham said, much to my disappointment.

"Did something happen?"

"A difference of opinion. He-"

He was interrupted by a shrill beep. Haytham pulled his phone from his front pocket and checked the screen.

"Damn you, Church," he muttered under his breath. "Excuse me for a moment. I have to take this."

I nodded as he left the room. Things felt...lighter now after the near-confrontation earlier. I still had so much I wanted to ask him about Ista, so much I wanted to know about who she was then and what their relationship was like before I was born... But it seemed that would have to wait. For now, at least.

Still. Maybe this visit wouldn't be nearly as bad as I thought it would.


	12. Threats

_**Threats**_

"You need to come back," Church said, completely breathless, as soon as I picked up. "You need to come back _right now._"

I tried not to sign into the phone. Now, of all times...

"Benjamin, I happen to be in the middle of something-"

"I mean it, sir. _Right now_."

"Why don't you start by _telling _me what is so urgent?"

"It's not something I feel comfortable discussing over the phone."

This time I did sigh, though it sounded more like a growl. I could imagine Church flinching on the other line.

"You're going to have to make an exception. I have a guest over and I can't just up and leave him."

"Who-"

"Tell me, Church."

I heard a shuffle from behind him, some shouting. Church yelled something in reply, though his voice was muffled. He must have slapped his hand over the phone. I made my way out of the kitchen and into the foyer, where I hoped Connor couldn't hear me.

"Church!" I hissed loud enough for the other man to hear.

"Yes, I'm still here. Yes. Well, ah..." He fumbled for a moment, his tone strained and frustrated. "The Assassin, sir, Zenger..."

"I remember his name."

"He's...he's escaped the facility."

I very nearly dropped the phone. It slipped from my fingers, but I managed to grab it before it hit the floor.

"Please tell me I misheard that."

Another voice came on then, one I found far more familiar and comforting, given the situation. "It's Zenger, sir. He's been re-captured by the Assassins," Charles told me.

"How in the world did they..." I paused for a moment, looked over my shoulder. No sign of Connor. "How in the world did they _manage _that? He was under the best security, he was-"

"There was someone on the inside. They helped him. Several of the security guards are dead."

I hissed a curse into the phone. All of the chaos in the background made sense now.

Was Zenger really important enough that the Assassins needed to reclaim him? They seemed content enough to let plenty of their others waste away in the Animus units without even a peep of protest. What made Zenger so different?

"What's going on now?" I asked when Charles said nothing more.

"We've sent groups out to search for him and his accomplice."

"Who helped him?"

"There were several others besides our...former employee. He let them in, apparently."

"His name was...?"

"Wilkinson. Clipper Wilkinson, the-"

"One of our best snipers. Damn." I ran a hand through my hair and tried not to tousle it. "But you're saying that a _few _men managed to break through an _entire building's _security systems and escape?"

There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end. "Well...not just two, sir-"

"How _bloody many did you let into the building?!_"

"We're not sure right now, but we're working on it," Charles said, more angry than distressed now. "Is the matter _important _enough now that you can dismiss your guest and come back to the facility?"

"For the moment, no. But I trust that this is something you can handle yourself until I can make it back?"

"Yes, sir. Though I'm sure the men would be more assured by your presence."

"I'll be there tomorrow, at the earliest. Call me if there are any new developments before then," I said, and hung up the phone before he could respond. Surely they could keep things under control until I had a chance to return; they'd done it countless times before in the past, back when I was still with Ziio and tending to matters in the UK.

This was certainly an important development, but...

I returned to the living room, where Connor was furiously typing something into his own phone. He glanced up at me once before he finished his message and shoved the device back in his pocket.

"Everything all right?" I asked him, hoping that I sounded far more calm than I actually felt.

"Yes. Was that work?"

I paused. How much had he managed to hear?

"It was," I answered as smoothly as I could manage. "One of my co-workers had a question."

"You sounded angry."

"Yes, well. You would be too if you had to work with such incompetence."

My son cracked a small smile at that. "So I take it you must be the _smartest_ one in the building."

"Of course. The entire operation would fall apart without me."

"Mhmm."

I took my tea from the table where I'd left it. The drink was lukewarm now and semi-undrinkable. Still, I put it to my lips and took a long sip. I felt drained after the phone conversation, and try as I might, I couldn't stop thinking about the Assassins' infiltration into the building. Did Connor already know about their escape? Is that what he was typing so feverishly about?

"I have a question," he suddenly said, breaking my train of thought. "About my grandfather."

The subject change was almost jarring. That, and I hadn't spoken about my father to anyone in _years_. Even Jenny knew not to mention him in her biannual letters.

Still, Connor hadn't spoken to him before - hadn't known he'd even existed until maybe fifteen minutes ago - and I suppose he had some right to know about the side of his family he'd never met.

"What do you want to know?"

"You said he sails?"

"Sometimes. It was one of his passions when he was younger, before my sister and I were born."

"He's still in the UK."

"Yes. He's been to Boston a few times, but he prefers to stay back in his homeland."

"What does he do? Besides that, I mean."

"Hmm." I took another short drink to buy myself time. Now would not be a good chance to tell him that his grandfather was - is, actually - an Assassin, and a full member of the British Brotherhood. I was surprised the boy hadn't met the man on one of his rare stops in the States, given that he'd supposedly fraternized with Achilles on more than one occasion.

"He is rather wealthy," was all I managed to think of.

Connor gave a frown so small that I almost didn't catch it before his expression went smooth once more. "Like you," he said.

"I suppose."

I stood then, still cradling my cup in one hand. The tea was gone now, but I wasn't sure I had the stomach for more.

"Why don't you take one of his bottled ships?" I proposed. I had more than twenty of them, after all; my father continued to send them even after I'd left the family home, and I barely had enough room.

Connor started. "Really? But-"

"I saw you admiring them earlier. Go ahead, pick whichever you want."

Connor, despite his protests, wandered over to the display shelf. His eyes were alight with an emotion similar to the one I'd seen when I handed him that photograph of myself and his mother. He stared at the bottles for a while, but I think we both knew which he was most interested in.

"Is this one all right?" he asked, taking the tiny pirate ship in his hands. His touch was surprisingly delicate for one with such rough, callused fingers.

"Perfectly fine. Put it here on the table until you leave; that way it won't let lost or broken."

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

I shifted restlessly for some time after that. Connor switched on the TV (despite his earlier protests about not watching much of it, he seemed very engrossed in whatever was on the Animal Planet) and I poured myself another shallow cupful of tea. The smell of raspberries seemed spoiled now, too sweet to be appetizing. I poured the rest of the kettle out and made something milder, more bitter. Something that matched my mood a bit better.

Connor was distracted when I returned to the living room. His eyes were on the TV, but his free hand was hovering over the phone. Its screen lit and his snapped it up.

"Is something wrong?" I asked him, settling down on the opposite end of the couch.

"No. It's nothing."

There it was again: that wall he'd thrown up as soon as I met him several weeks ago. It was back now. Something was amiss. I could only guess that it had to do with whatever was going on at Abstergo at that very moment.

"...Is it something I can help with?"

Connor looked up then, his expression one of confusion. "Help me? Um-"

He was cut off by a savage knocking at the door. Connor's mouth snapped shut and he withdrew once more.

I sighed, pushed myself off the seat, and made my way to the front door. It was late by now; the sun had long set and the night was darkening. If it was Church or Charles, I swore...

I did see a familiar face when I opened the door. It was not, however, the one I expected.

"_Master_ Kenway," Zenger said, shrugging the white hood of his coat from his head. "I wasn't sure I'd find you."

"Good evening, Mr. Zenger. Where are your friends? Waiting in ambush?"

"Perhaps you should come see."

"I'd prefer not."

Another face materialized behind Zenger's, one that I did not recognize. The man was holding an impressive-looking butcher's knife. He saw me watching it and held it up for me to see.

"A gift from the Assassins for you," the man said, his French accent thick. "For what you've done the past few years."

"Gentlemen, perhaps this is not the time-"

"This is the perfect time. You're alone here. Maybe it would have been in your best interest to return to your friends."

My eyes narrowed. My jaw set. They'd known how vulnerable I might be at home - and they'd obviously hacked into Abstergo records to obtain the address.

But if it was a fight these overconfident Assassins wanted, it was a fight they would get. I was not nearly as weak as they obviously thought me to be. I engaged the hidden blade I still kept on my wrist and used my other hand to grab for my phone. If I was lucky, there were still Abstergo agents in the area and I could summon them quickly enough to help.

"Haytham?"

I froze. I'd nearly forgotten about Connor. Why couldn't the boy stay put? I turned, and Zenger and his companion stepped away from the building.

My son had obviously heard some of what was exchanged. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his side, and I could see the muscle standing out in his neck. There was concern there, perhaps some anger, but no fear or trepidation. Only confidence.

I couldn't help but feel a surge of fatherly pride.

"What is it?" he asked. He hadn't seen who was at the door, or else he would-

Connor suddenly stopped. His hands unclenched and his shoulders fell.

Ah. He had seen them.

"Just a few overzealous solicitors," I said, hand on the door. "I'll take care of them."

I could see Zenger's mouth moving from the corner of my eye. He raised an eyebrow and mouthed Connor's name, and I had to suppress the urge to turn around and punch him in the jaw.

Connor glanced back and forth between the Assassins and myself. He was at a complete loss and hadn't figured out how to recover himself.

I almost ruined it all then. "Friends of yours?" I nearly asked. The words were on my tongue, nearly slipped past, when Zenger stepped away from the door, bringing his companion with him.

"Apologies," he muttered.

"It would be best if you didn't return here. I don't buy things from door-to-door sellers. Untrustworthy bunch, I find."

They disappeared without another word. I shut the door, locked it, and bolted it.

We were not safe, I knew. Far from it. Zenger and the other Assassins were out there now, and thanks to Church's botched efforts at security, they had new information on their side.

I turned away from the door with a tired sigh. At least I could alert the others. Perhaps it would be best if I returned to Abstergo tomorrow morning, after Connor left.

Connor.

My son was still standing beside me, his face completely unreadable now. His earlier surprise was gone.

"Very interesting solicitors," I said, hoping to break this silence with some light humor. Connor didn't respond right away.

"Connor?"

His eyes jumped to meet mine. "Yeah. Yes," he said, barely hesitating. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Perfectly fine," I said, lifting my arm to play with the locks. I realized then that the hidden blade was still engaged, still poking from the sleeve of my shirt. I flicked my wrist and it disappeared with a nearly silent _snick_ of metal on metal.

If Connor had seen, however, he said nothing.

"How do you feel about dinner? Perhaps I could work something up," I said, though I had no appetite for food. I _was_ in the mood for a distraction, or a way to keep Connor busy while I called Charles.

"Sounds fine to me," he said. My son turned then, paused for a moment, and flicked his wrist when he thought I'd returned my attention to the door.

I heard that familiar _snick._

So he had one of the Assassin blades as well.


	13. Warnings

**Thank you so, so much for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! I finally have a solid idea of which direction this story is going in so hopefully there won't be anymore huge gaps between chapters. :) **

* * *

**_Warnings_**

"It isn't wise for you to come home."

The words sent a strange chill up my spine. My mouth opened, floundered for a moment before I caught myself.

I'd heard those words before, or some variation of them. Back when I was young, still not old enough to care for myself if I had to, after I'd seen mine and my mother's house burn to the ground...

I bit my lip. This was nothing like that day. Achilles merely sounded concerned - not afraid - on the other line. I pressed my phone back to my ear and steadied myself.

"What's wrong? Did Abstergo get there?"

"No, not yet. But that's why I'm telling you not to come back. They still don't know that you're an Assassin. The rest of us, though..."

Achilles trailed off, and for a moment I could see him pinching the bridge of his nose as he considered his words.

"They came to Haytham's house while I was there. Did you know that?" I asked before he could continue. I already knew what he was going to say: that the rest of them were in some sort of trouble - or they would be - since Jacob and Stephane made such a reckless decision. Making the escape from Abstergo was one thing, but going to Haytham's house right after?

The remainder of that night was tense and uncomfortable. My father was on edge, keeping constant watch from the windows while he made frantic calls from his phone. "The sorry lot working beneath me has no idea what it's doing," he told me once when I asked him if everything was all right. His tone was just as smooth as before, but I could see a steely light in his eyes. He was angry, but he most definitely wasn't afraid.

That was the first time that I caught a glimpse of what my father really was: a Grandmaster, a true leader of the Templar Order, and a man who once had a hand in tearing down the Assassin Brotherhood.

He dropped me back off at the dorms early the next morning morning. I'd given another paper as an excuse, but I think he was too distracted to pay me much attention. Abstergo needed him, and he didn't have the time or energy to play his role as 'father' anymore.

Was this what he had done to my mother, too? Was it that easy for him to set aside a woman he claimed to have loved so fiercely that he still thought about her?

Achilles didn't call me until later that day, but my mind was still spinning. I had a hard time pushing my thoughts aside long enough to do any of my class work.

"I know," Achilles said after a moment, bringing me back to the present and the task at hand. "They left for the headquarters in New York, but... It might be too late. The Order has some of Jacob's memories and now they have Haytham's attention as well."

"What were they thinking?"

"Nothing, apparently. Jacob says that they knew he was alone that time of the night, and Stephane... You know how he is. It doesn't take much to rile him up."

Achilles's voice was calm, but I could hear the anger there, bubbling beneath the surface. I could only imagine what he'd said to Jacob and Stephane, and I was glad that for once I wasn't at the receiving end of it.

"What do we do now?" I asked, quiet and thoughtful.

"You can't come back here, first of all. The Order still doesn't know that you're one of us-"

"How do we know that?"

"Because Clipper has been keeping an eye on their records. They saw you in some of Jacob's memories, but there was nothing incriminating. Thank God I've been training you away from the others," Achilles said. The relief in his tone was nearly palpable. "The Order will strike again very soon, now that Jacob's out of their hands and they know they had several Assassins among their trusted ranks. I don't want you caught up in this-"

"But I'm one of you now! I'm a full member of the Brotherhood! I have every right to be there."

"Not right now. Not yet. We'll need your strength when things go downhill."

When. It wasn't _if_ anymore. I swallowed back my frustration, but it seeped into my voice anyway, thick and heavy.

"I want to be there. I _need_ to be there, Achilles. The Brotherhood isn't strong enough to fight the Order on its own. I-"

"You will do no such thing. I will tell the others to stay away from you and the school. You will be dormant for now, Connor. Don't do anything reckless. Stay out of trouble. We will call you when we need you."

"You can't just force me to pretend nothing's wrong. I can't stand aside while-"

"You will do what I say."

I all but growled my anger and impatience over the phone. "You need me, Achilles! They don't know who I am. I can gather information, I can fight. I won't let the Brotherhood die again."

"Damn it, boy, have you listened to a word I've said?! You have to distance yourself! You're not ready for something this big!"

"You said I was! I'm an Assassin!"

"Connor, calm down."

I realized then that I was yelling, that I was breathing so hard he could hear me through the phone. My jaw was set, teeth gritted, hands clenched so tightly around the phone that it was threatening to break in half. I tried to relax my grip, to ease my breaths, but I could still feel the anger flowing through me like a poison.

"You must listen to me, Connor," Achilles said, slower now, though just as forceful as before. "We don't know _what_ Abstergo is going to do yet, or _when_ they are going to do it. I will not pull you into this fight until the time is right. Your anonymity is our greatest asset right now - it means the Order won't see you coming when you're ready to strike. It may be a deciding factor in this war."

"I know that. But if something happens to you..."

I forced myself to stop. I would not let my mind wander down that path. Not again, not after what happened to Ista...

"I am one person, Connor. You must fight for the sake of the Brotherhood. If we are taken down, then the Order will assume full control. No one will be there to stop them. You may be our best bet in the end. We will be depending on you."

Depending on me. Everything on my shoulders.

"You have trained long and hard for this. I believe in you, Connor."

"I'll... Yes. Just tell me what to do," I said. "But I don't like the thought of you being alone there."

He chuckled. "I won't be alone. I'm old, but I'm not stupid."

"The break is starting soon too. The dorms will be closed so I won't be able to stay here."

"Is there someone who can take you in? None of the other Assassins, but a friend from the reservation?"

I ran over a very short list of names. My grandmother was out of the question; she was with family of her own, people I didn't quite trust or feel comfortable around. I could have asked Kanen'tó:kon if he wasn't studying out of state.

One last name came to mind. Someone closer, though I wasn't sure if they would say yes. And someone who Achilles surely wouldn't approve of.

"I'll ask around," I said.

"Good. Keep in touch, but be careful."

"I will."

"And _don't _go back to Abstergo. Stay close to the campus."

"I won't."

"Be safe, Connor."

"And you as well."

I hung up and scrolled through the numbers on my phone. I highlighted Haytham Kenway, but my finger hovered over the Call button.

Was this really wise after what'd happened? After Jacob and Stephane nearly gave me away? I almost shut my phone off again, but...

Maybe he'd be too distracted by his work to catch on. Maybe I could still gather information while abiding to Achilles's rules: I would still be close to campus, and I most definitely wouldn't be anywhere near Abstergo. I could help the Brotherhood without the Order knowing who I was. All Haytham had to know was that I needed a place to stay during the break.

I hit Call and put the phone back to my ear before I could change my mind.


	14. In the Right

_**In the Right**_

Connor had managed to surprise me more than once since he (rather suddenly) made his way into my life. And I have to admit, I am not a man easily surprised.

"I need a place to stay for a while," he told me over the phone. "I was hoping-"

I found myself answering before the boy could finish his sentence. "Of course," I said. "Of course. Is this over the break?"

"Yeah."

"...If I may ask, were you kicked out of you guardian's house?"

His voice was taut. "No. He's going to be away for a while, so I thought-"

"It's fine. Stop by this weekend and I can give you a spare key. You're welcome any time, son."

Something in my tone must have made him nervous. "Yeah, okay," he said. Stammered, almost. "I'll come after classes on Friday."

"Very well."

So Achilles was on the move. Unsurprising. I doubt I would have stayed in the same place for long if an entire band of Templars had put me in their sights. His men made a foolish decision stopping by my home.

At least Achilles made the decision to put Connor out of danger. My home would be safest for him - especially now that I had several of my men patrolling the area. As exciting as the unexpected Assassin visit was, I didn't think I could tolerate any more.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and leaned forward on my desk. The halls outside were buzzing with people: with scientists, their assistants, and security guards running back and forth. The entire Abstergo building had been thrown into a sort of semi-organized chaos since the escape of the Assassins, and for the moment, I wanted no part of it. I'd already lectured both Church and his lackeys half a dozen times and I'd only been back for a day.

A knock interrupted my moment of self pity. I looked up, expecting Charles, but instead I thought I could make out Johnson and another, shorter form outside my office door's frosted glass.

"Come in," I said, straightening myself out. Johnson entered, followed by Hickey and the unmistakable stench of stale liquor. It was barely past noon and the man was no doubt piss drunk, though he barely showed it; Hickey moved with a strange, lurching grace when he was inebriated, and his mind was - somehow - still sharp as a tack.

"'Afternoon, 'Aytham," Hickey said, giving me a mock salute as he slouched in one of the chairs across from mine. He threw one leg over the arm and rested his cheek against his hand.

Johnson sat with a quiet frown on his face. "Thomas-"

I waved a hand. "It's all right. Did you need something?"

"Is now a bad time?" Johnson asked, eyebrow slowly raised. "You said you wanted Thomas to present his findings today at noon."

My gaze dropped to the calendar on my desk. There it was in small, red handwriting: _Hickey, 1:30PM_. Of course I'd managed to forget, even though I'd made the note just a few hours before. I reached up to pinch the bridge of my nose.

"No, of course not. Please, go right ahead."

Johnson gave me a curious look, but he gestured to Hickey, who was picking at the dirt beneath his nails. The man leered.

"Tha' boy you've been 'aving me stalk goes by Connor. Lives with tha' Achilles, yeah?"

"So it would seem."

"Anyway, 'e doesn't do much besides go to 'is classes and the like. But I recognize him. 'E was at Abstergo a few months ago."

My blood turned to ice. I stared at Hickey, waited for him to continue, but the man said nothing. All he gave me was that infuriating smile.

"Well?" I prompted. "What was he doing here? Was Achilles with him?"

"Now, I think you 'n William here are hidin' something from me," Hickey said. He leaned further in his chair, so far that I could hear it creak beneath the strain. My hands balled into fists, but Johnson spoke before I could.

"What do you mean?" he asked, a picture of calm.

"Why're you interested in some kid? Is it because 'e lives with that Achilles guy?"

"That's part of it."

Hickey crossed his arms over his chest. "That ain't all. Ol' bossman 'ere wouldn't 'ave cared a lick before."

"Please continue with the information, Hickey. That's what you're paid for," I said through gritted teeth. Sometimes the man tested my patience more thoroughly than any of my other employees.

"Yeah, fine," Hickey said with a shrug. "I ain't done yet though. I'm gonna find out-"

Johnson cleared his throat. "Go on."

"Anyway, tha' kid was in the lobby of Abstergo a few weeks back. I saw 'im there. Gave ol' Charles the stink eye."

"Charles?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Did he seem to recognize him?"

"'ho, Charles or the kid? Charles didn't, but the kid seemed to know 'ho he was."

"Did they speak?"

"No."

"Did Charles say anything about it after?"

"No."

"Hm," I hummed thoughtfully. There was some sort of connection there, but I didn't understand it. Not yet.

"I follow that kid around but he ain't doin' anything special. I see 'im climbing up the side of Achilles' mansion sometimes but that's it. Oh, and he 'as a hidden blade, like one of those Assassin things."

I nodded. That only confirmed my suspicions from the other night. The cold in my body was deepening, spreading, turning to anxiety and fear.

Hickey raised his arms in a shrug. "That's all I really 'ave. Oh, and he's your _son_, but I think ya already knew that," he added with that leering grin.

I returned it with a glare of my own. "That's information to be kept to yourself. Speak one word of it to someone besides William or myself and I will personally make sure that you're driven six feet into the ground. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Hickey said, though he was unmoved. The man was examining his dirty fingernails again with more interest than he had ever shown me.

"You can go," Johnson said, giving Hickey a nod of his head. The younger man pulled himself from the chair and left without looking back at either of us.

"Can we trust him to keep that to himself?" I asked as soon as the door was closed again.

"For now, I think so. No one's asking about the boy. I think even Church has forgotten about him in all of the chaos," Johnson said. He ran a tired hand down his face. "I have a feeling you and I might be the only ones who remember him from the Assassin's memories."

"I hope so."

I settled back in my chair, and for a moment - the briefest moment - silence seemed to dominate the room. I could barely hear the pounding feet just outside the office door.

"The boy is coming to live with me for a while," I said, albeit hesitantly. "I believe that means Achilles is on the move."

"I wouldn't be surprised. It's probably smart of him, after everything that happened."

"Indeed. And this means I can keep Connor safe - far away from any Assassin troubles or ideals."

Johnson regarded me carefully. "Are you going to try to convert him?"

"I doubt it's possible at this point, but I would at least like to turn him away from the Assassins. Perhaps I can show him the chaos they've caused."

"It's worth a try."

"If that fails...perhaps we could keep Achilles on the run. Keep them separated. Or at least keep him away from his Assassin...brothers," I said. The word felt like poison on my tongue.

"Be careful," Johnson said, his voice just barely over a murmur. "If Church or Charles _do_ recognize him-"

"It will be fine. I'm keeping him to myself for now. Though I'm curious to know what Charles apparently did to offend him."

"Maybe it's just the fact that he's a Templar?" Johnson offered, a wry grin pulling at his lips.

"I hope that's the case," I said. "Then it might be easier to convince him we're in the right. Perhaps I might invite Charles over sometime soon. They could meet properly, talk. Connor might see that Charles isn't as bad as he supposedly seems."

"Don't scare him off. This may be your only chance to..." Johnson paused for a moment, trailed off, before he reluctantly continued: "This may be your only chance to get close enough to convince him that he should come here."

"As a Templar? I already told you, William, I-"

"No. To enter the Animus."

That awful coldness returned. My gaze dropped to my hands, clenched on the top of my desk. I could still feel the machine probing my own memories, could still hear the hushed tones of the scientists as they dissected them like a frog...

My voice was unbearably quiet when I finally spoke. "I...don't know if I could do that to him."

"His mother's family was close to where we think the area is. If we scan his memories, we might-"

I held up a hand. "Not right now, William. I don't want to think about that right now."

"It _may_ be necessary. For Abstergo, for the Templar Order-"

"I'll discuss this with you later," I said, with what I hoped was enough finality that Johnson would take the hint.

He did. He sighed though, made a fuss of getting up from his chair. He looked back at me before he left and shook his head.

"I understand that you care for your son, Haytham. But we may need him in the future. You have to be prepared for that - especially if Birch finds out."

"I know," I said. Though I didn't.


End file.
